


MCYT Smut Oneshots

by iamleavinggg



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blood As Lube, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Bottom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Bottom Wilbur Soot, Choking, Gay Sex, M/M, Phone Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Semi-Public Sex, Size Difference, Smut, Top Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Top Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), crafting table, idk i hate tags, mcyt - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29132223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamleavinggg/pseuds/iamleavinggg
Summary: It is what it is. This is a co-creation between two authors, Styx and Rock. This has also been cross-posted on Wattpad under the username ashjkty.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 42
Kudos: 392





	1. introduction / requests !

i'll be honest, i hate writing introductions. i don't want you to have to skip past this part just to start reading, but there's really no other convenient way to find all of our requests and also introduce the authors without adding this lil' part before, so i do apologize for this!

anyway, i'm the first author of two, my name is styx/stx and i go by any pronouns really! i'm usually pretty good with buildup for stories, since i do like to ramble quite a bit. both of us are equally fine with writing smut, though! speaking on smut (kinda the whole topic of this bOok) i tend to write softer ones, as well as some ~spicey~ ones, but the really kinky ones are totally up to rock, he has absolutely no filter.

okay well not really that off base, but yeah, i'm rock, second author of two. i (as styx so wonderfully stated) have really no limit as for what i'll write and absolutely no filter. any ship, any kink, ill do it. want a long, tense buildup? got it. want a long scene? done. i take any and all requests, so don't be shy. we'll credit our requests, but if you want to stay anonymous that's fine and we respect that.

and, again, don't be afraid to dm us with requests! we really do appreciate them.

both of the authors here do not, i repeat DO NOT care to write any sort of ship/prompt just so long as the creator has stated that they are fine with it. with that being said, though, feel free to request literally anything. literally anything. on that note, if you do want to request, we will credit your request unless you say you'd like to stay anonymous!

these stories will mainly be dreamnotfound if not requested, since i have no creativity to think of interesting ships, hence why we are taking requests

also- even though we're both writing in lowercase here, our stories do have capitols, correct grammar, etc. so, please, don't let that throw you off from our book.

anyway, i hope you all enjoy!

also, because this has been cross-posted to wattpad, a lot of the formatting is fit to wattpad. we started posting on december 5, 2020, but we only started posting on ao3 on february 1st, 2021. if anything looks strange or doesn't seem to fit, forgive us, we're new to posting on ao3.


	2. Choking on my Own Blood, Somehow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship; Dreamnoblade  
> Author; Styx, with Rock annoying me on discord >:(  
> Enjoy!

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-_

His feet landed soundly on the ground, flinging dirt in his frantic wake as he ran.

Every footfall was followed by twice as many from his attacker. His once 50 foot lead now shrank to less than 10. How he had managed to lose it that quickly was a mystery to even himself.

A root caught the toe of his boot. Techno stumbled, nearly losing his footing on the leaf-strewn ground. With this fatal stumble, his attacker gained all the upper hand that he had needed.

A harsh shove to the back flattened Techno onto the earth, his elbows making contact first. A rock that had been hidden by yellowed leaves stopped his knee, causing him to let out a low groan of pain after his initial shout of surprise.

A low chuckle rumbled from low in his pursuers chest, a knee pressing hard into his back to keep him down.

Techno felt the other gather both of his wrists in on of their hands, yanking them back. Techno's sweat and dirt streaked face was lifted from the earth as he panted heavily, adrenaline from the chase still coursing throughout his body.

He let his head droop in defeat, readying himself for whatever fate awaited him.

In his attacker's hands, it was sure to be a slow demise.

"The fallen king." his pursuer cooed, confident sneer evident in his tone.

"Fuck you." Techno rasped, his throat dry and scratchy from what seemed like hours of running in the heat.

His attacker tsked at this, bringing his hand to Technoblade's hair, digging his fingers deep into the shoulder-length pink strands and pulling _hard_.

Technoblade gave a surprised grunt at this, his head thrown back to avoid the dull pain on his scalp.

And yet, despite his initial pain at the pull, he couldn't help but feel a rush of heat pooling low in his stomach.

_Goddammit, not now of all times._

The man behind him gave a triumphant laugh, his breathing somehow steady despite the long pursuit.

"Technoblade, what am I going to do with you?" he asked endearingly, his voice condescending and controlling.

"I could make you beg for your life, screaming for mercy at my hands."

"I could break you, push you to the very edge until you feel like death would be the only resolution to your pain."

"Or," he leaned forward, pressing his mouth to Technoblade's ear in a low whisper,

"I could fuck you into the ground until your thighs are shaking, body spent. You'd be screaming my name, over and over, begging for it to stop."

Techno felt a low tingle of fear at this. And yet, even though the man's words were clearly threatening, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of arousal.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

"Hm?" the man murmured, pulling back slightly. His heated breath ghosted over Techno's neck hotly.

"Let me go." Technoblade snarled, wriggling wildly in a vain attempt to free himself. He wanted to escape this madman's grasp, flee into the underbrush before him.

But did he, though? His attempt to escape was feeble and half-hearted.

Almost like he wanted to stay. Almost like he wanted the punishment, wanted whatever was coming to him.

His attacker let out a demeaning sigh, tapping Techno's wrist with his thumb.

"I don't think I will. No, I think I'll take what's mine, and you'll have to accept it. Maybe you'll even like it." he announced, voice dripping with a clear triumph and sadistic excitement.

Without much effort on the other's end, Techno was flipped onto his back, his wrists now pinned above his head. In this new position, he was able to see the man above him clearly.

The white smiley face mask, the dark green leather shirt, the diamond sword strapped to his hip- there was no mistaking this man.

Dream.

And, more terrifyingly, the fact that he was straddling Technoblade's lap, a knife held evenly in his free hand.

Techno's eyes widened momentarily, jaw clenched in a small gesture of barely contained fear. The knife couldn't have been much longer than about five inches, but it was wickedly sharp, and it had a dangerous curve to the blade.

And, in Dream's hand nonetheless.

A harsh bark of laughter erupted from the masked man above him. Dream brought his hand down to swipe away a stray strand of hair from Technoblade's face.

"Pathetic." he snarled, twirling the knife around impressively and pressing it heavily against Techno's throat. Techno pulled his head back, straining to get away from the weapon.

Problem was, he was pressed against a layer of solid earth.

Dream laughed again, pressing the knife further into the delicate skin. Techno bit down hard on his bottom lip, breathing heavily through his nose.

The knife was held so very carefully that the slightest bit more of pressure would break skin, spilling the dark red blood below. Dream seemed to understand this, as he didn't push further but didn't pull away either.

"Is that what you want, Techno? Want me to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk for days?" Dream sneered, tightening his grip on Techno's wrists.

Techno let out a low groan, half pleading and half terrified.

The words coming from Dream's mouth were doing something to him, adding to the pooling heat in his stomach. He could feel his blood rush to his dick, which was pressed conveniently against Dream.

There was no way he couldn't feel it, and Techno was sure that he was smirking under that godforsaken mask.

"I think you do." Dream decided, rolling his hips in the worst way possible to someone who was trying desperately to direct his thoughts elsewhere.

Techno let out a groan, his eyes rolling back. The pressure felt _so_ good, _so good-_ ,

"Whore." the man above him snarled, smirk clear in his tone. He pulled the knife away for a moment, only to place it lightly against Techno's lips.

"Hold it." he demanded, pressing a bit harder. Fearful of the possibility of being cut, Techno opened his mouth to hold the blade between his teeth.

With an unseen glimmer in his eye, Dream suddenly drew the knife down Techno's bottom lip, opening a gash there. Blood spilled immediately from it, dripping down his chin.

He let out a pained gasp, hands jerking instinctively.

"Agh, fuck!" he grunted. Dream only laughed, placing the blade of the knife between Techno's teeth. He was forced to hold it there, his own blood dripping sickeningly onto his tongue.

Dream shifted back, now sitting on Techno's thighs. Without a knife in the way, he slowly traced his hand down Techno's neck, then chest, then stomach, before teasing at his waistband by grabbing the fabric, pulling it back, and releasing it sharply.

Every time it snapped back onto Techno's skin, a low groan bubbled from low in his throat. He felt himself only get harder with each snap of the waistband, now breathing heavily at his desperation for any sort of friction on his straining cock.

With a deep chuckle, Dream _finally_ undid his belt, sliding the leather strap free from each belt loop with an agonizingly slow pace. He gathered it up into his hand, staring at it for a moment.

Techno could've sworn he felt his heart skip a beat when Dream let out a pondering "Hm..." while tracing his thumb along the scarred leather of the belt.

"Y'know, this could be used for more than just holding pants up, Techno." he mused, looping it into a neat coil.

"Ngh." Techno answered, the knife between his teeth limiting his speech significantly.

Privately, he felt both a twinge of fear and a sharp spark of arousal at what Dream could do with the belt that he held carefully in his hands. Techno watched the way his head was tilted ever so slightly, as if he were debating over something in his head.

Dream turned his masked gaze back to Techno.  
"Yeah, how about we put it to use, hm?"

Techno shook his head quickly, equally nervous as well as eager to find out Dream's plan for the belt. But Dream didn't have to know how much he was enjoying this.

How embarrassing that would be if Dream were to really see-

"Aagh, fughck!" he cursed thickly, his speech still blocked by the knife's blade. The reason for his sudden outburst was the fact that Dream had decided that then was the time to crack the belt down harshly on his exposed waist, where his shirt had ridden up slightly.

A sharp stinging replaced the belt on his waist, and he writhed in pain. The way it had cracked down so suddenly only heightened Techno's nervousness about the whole situation.

There had been no warning at all, made worse by the fact that Techno couldn't see Dream's face to see what he was thinking. Dream could do anything- at any time- and Techno would be defenseless as well as thoroughly unprepared.

Dream must've grinned at the reaction, because he was now leaning forward to inspect the damage. He pulled back the waistband of Techno's pants to see it better, and there on the pale skin there a brilliant red mark was forming, contrasting harshly in color.

"Might leave a bruise." Dream commented nonchalantly, shrugging freely.

He moved his hand that had been pinning both of Techno's, bringing his hands up towards himself. With the belt in hand, he looped it tightly around Techno's wrist until he had run out of length, then securing it carefully.

Dream pulled on it experimentally, seemingly satisfied when it didn't give way.

Dream pushed his wrists back against the hard-packed earth with a short chuckle of satisfaction.

Clearly, Techno was fucked.

With his hands tied, Dream at his waist, a knife in his mouth, and a very clear boner, he was extremely vulnerable.

Not to mention, completely at Dream's mercy.

Dream was now lightly tracing the outline of Techno's bulge with his index finger, humming lowly.

"Such a slut. Getting off on this, Techno? Ever thought about me doing this to you? You must've, you whore. Look at how hard you are right now." Dream scoffed.

He had no idea how close he had hit to home. Or maybe he did.

_"Fuck," he panted, thrusting up into his hand._

_He imagined Dream in front of him, lips wrapped hotly around his cock. Those piercing green eyes glossy with lust as he gazed up at Techno._

_He would pop off of Techno's dick with an audible pop, drawing his tongue over his lips slowly._

_"You dare cum," he would say, "and I'll leave you here for an hour, all hard and needy."_

_Techno panted, pumping his hand quicker._

_He would go down once again on Techno, deepthroating him suddenly. Techno would shout out, struggling against himself with the overpowering urge to just release down Dream's throat._

_Instead of listening to imaginary Dream's instructions, he thrusted up harshly into his hand, cumming harder than he had in months._

_"Fuck." he cursed lowly. Had he really just gotten off on Dream of all people? And had he really just gotten off better than he had in a long time?_

_Damn._

He clenched his jaw, teeth digging into the knife blade. His teeth must've been leaving marks on the dark metal at this point.

Dream laughed to himself, bringing his hand up to Techno's zipper. He held onto it lightly, toying with it teasingly.

Techno felt achingly desperate for friction, or for even just the freedom from his pants- which had grown far too tight for his liking.

"Maybe I'll make you beg, Techno." Dream offered, glancing up at the pinkette through his mask.

Techno shook his head, letting a whine free itself from his throat. He didn't want to have to beg for anything, and from Dream of all people.

Dream laughed cruelly. His hand brought the zipper up and down slowly, the zipping noise ringing tauntingly in Techno's ears.

"No, I won't make you beg for this." he decided, zipping the little metal zipper up.

"I'll make you beg for it to stop. You'll be shaking with overstimulation, too spent to even form a proper sentence."

_Ziiip._

_Ziiip._

_Ziiip._

"You like that idea, slut?" Dream asked, his voice lightened in a sadistic excitement.

Techno didn't answer, struggling against himself. His pride rebelled at the very thought, not wanting to submit to anyone, especially Dream.

His body, on the other hand, had absolutely zero problems. In fact- and he hadn't thought that this was even possible- the words only worsened his hard on, which was already pressing roughly against his boxers.

_Ziiip._

"I think you do."

Dream unzipped his pants.

"I think you're begging for it. You want it so bad, don't you?"

He zipped them back up.

"I think you're going to regret that soon."

He unzipped them once more.

With cruelly slow movements, he undid the button above the zipper. Technoblade let out an audible sigh of relief. Finally, _finally_ this was going somewhere else.

"Damn." Dream commented dully, tugging the down the waistband of Techno's pants down to his knees, scooting back in the process. The mark made by a belt had only darkened in color, contrasting brilliantly with the pale skin on his waist.

Dream having had scooted back forced him to move his hands to move from Techno's tightly bound wrist. He glanced up, letting out an annoyed sigh.

"Keep your hands there. Move them, and I'll _really_ make sure you won't be able to walk tomorrow."

Techno nodded quickly at the threat, balling his hands into fists. There was no way he'd risk his ass (quite literally) just to attempt to move.

Dream sat on Technoblade's knees carefully, his hands moving quickly. One went up to grab the bloody knife from Techno's move, earning a sigh of relief from the pinkette, and the other moved up to brush a strand of dirty blonde hair from the front of his mask.

His knife-wielding hand began to spin the knife thoughtfully, twirling the knife impressively as he appeared to lose himself in his thoughts.

Techno was tempted to bring his restrained hands down to wipe at the dripping blood falling from his bottom lip. Common sense told him that that was _not_ a good idea, considering the fact that Dream was currently holding the knife that had made the cut.

Dream suddenly brought the knife to the hem of Techno's boxers, tracing it along the white fabric.

Techno resisted the urge to writhe away from the contact of the cool metal, instead gritting his teeth as goosebumps broke out on the sensitive skin.

"Cute." Dream mused, swiping the pad of his thumb over the prickled skin.

Techno opened his mouth indignantly, ready to defend himself against the idea of being anything close to cute.

Dream cut him off by suddenly plunging the knife powerfully into the dirt right beside Techno's stomach, causing him to flinch away from it with a quick exhale.

"Fuck's sake," Techno mumbled, body still tense even as he realized he wasn't in danger of being stabbed.

Dream ignored this, bringing his hand down to the hemline of Techno's boxers. He brought the fabric back and, copying what he had done with Techno's pants, began to pull the fabric back far enough before releasing it with an audible snap.

Technoblade writhed with every snap, the feeling of the sharp sting so near his aching dick almost unbearable.

Well, it added onto his growing list of inconveniences, actually. His split lip, the belt mark on his waist, his aching wrists (which he didn't mind that much), his surely bruised knee, and his straining cock.

Dream pulled back the waistband once more, this time to suddenly pull the underwear back and free Technoblade's cock.

Techno let out a groan of relief, hips bucking up instinctively at the sudden removal of pressure, into the cold air.

Dream tsked, though a smile was obviously playing on his features under the mask.

"That desperate, are we?" he teased, chuckling lowly.

To Techno's surprise, he suddenly pulled his mask up over his had and discarded it to the side, revealing his freckled face, a certain redness tinging his cheeks from the heat of under the mask.

Techno bit his lip at the sight, immediately regretting it when he tasted his own blood. He spluttered, choking on the metallic liquid out of shock.

He was choking on his own blood, somehow.

Dream let out another chuckle, his lips curling up into a smile.

"I'm not _that_ hot, pig boy, calm down." he teased, tugging the rest of the bottom half of Techno's clothing off.

Techno coughed, shaking his head. His voice came out slightly hoarse from just casually choking.

"My fuckin' lip." he coughed, finally able to clear his throat.

Dream let out an amused hum, not bothering to respond. He obviously knew that the cut lip was his fault and very clearly did not care.

Dream suddenly leaned forward, his hot breath ghosting over Techno's cock before he moved instead to the side, sucking the beginnings of a dark hickey into the delicate skin of his waist, opposite of the forming bruise from the belt.

Techno writhed, the sudden attack on the sensitive skin was enough to draw a gasp from his throat. He clenched his hands into fists, struggling against himself to moving away from the strange feeling.

Dream placed his calloused hands on the sides of Technoblade's waist, keeping him pressed firmly into place. He broke away from the already reddening skin for a moment to glare up at Techno.

"Keep moving, bitch. You'll have a dozen more of these to hide on your neck." he snarled. To reinforce this, he attacked the skin with a new vigor, biting down on the reddened skin occasionally.

Technoblade let out a choked gasp, hips struggling to lurch forward. It was such a strange feeling - a good one, obviously - that he couldn't help but writhe and struggle.

His back arched instead, bringing him up from the ground as Dream hummed against his skin. He continued to attack the skin for a few more moments before breaking away, a thinning line of saliva connecting the two before it broke and fell back down onto Techno.

Dream's breathing was heavier than it had been as he took a moment to recover. Then, without any warning, he suddenly dove back in and began to suck a second, slightly larger hickey into Techno's waist, even closer to his dick this time.

Techno choked on his breath, struggling both to buck his his hips up and also to keep them still.

He had seen enough of Dream's behavior to know not to disobey him.

Techno struggled against himself in more way than one, though, also fighting to not let out any noise. He didn't want to give Dream that sort of satisfaction.

This, however, must've annoyed Dream, as he now popped off of the skin with a harsh noise. After he quickly caught his breath, he glared up at Techno with those previously shining green eyes.

"You think you're so tough, huh, bitch? Not gonna have that same attitude here soon." Dream told him, his tongue darting forward to run over his bottom lip.

Techno shook his head, fists clenching and blunt nails digging into the leather wrapped around his wrists.

"No, there's really no need -," he began, his protest being cut off by a low, drawn-out moan as Dream suddenly went down the entire length of Techno's cock.

His hips bucked up instinctively, the tight heat wrapped around him already making his eyelids flutter. He could feel Dream's throat tighten around him, and it took what little remaining self control that he had to not bring his hands down and fist them into Dream's hair.

A muffled grunt of disapproval sounded from Dream. The vibrations from it caused Techno to let out another groan despite his slipping resolve to stay quiet.

Most likely on the verge of choking, Dream quickly pulled off of Technoblade's cock with an audible pop. Techno exhaled slowly, trying to calm down and also trying to contain his pleads for it to continue.

"Going to have to fuckin' tie you down, am I?" Dream muttered, wiping spit from his chin with the back of his hand.

"Such a whore. Can't even hold back for one minute." Dream shifted his attention fully to Techno's now red face.

"Actually, fuck that, you couldn't even hold back for five seconds. Took you that quick to unravel for me? Someone's a little desperate." Dream scoffed.

Techno shook his head, diverting his gaze. His face was flushed from both embarrassment and arousal and he couldn't even try to deny that he was enjoying this.

Dream shook his head, pushing a hand through his hair. "Such a whore." he muttered.

Dream shuffled back, and then stood. Confusion furrowed Techno's brow. That sort of confusion faded as he saw Dream unbuttoning his shirt, sliding it off.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, moving his head away from Dream; now shirtless. He could feel his already red face deepen in color, and he could only hope that the original color would hide it.

Dream slid his own belt off, tossing it to the side where it joined his discarded shirt. In a few more moments, Dream was completely naked and had shifted his attention back to Techno, still laid on the ground helplessly, hands bound above his head.

Dream scoffed when he looked back at Technoblade.

"You're pathetic, you know that?" he laughed, pushing a hand through his hair. He then crouched in front of Techno, working the buttons loose on Techno's shirt. He then pulled it off of Technoblade's chest, tossing it somewhere off to the side.

Now, they were both fully unclothed, though Techno was clearly far worse off than Dream. Disheveled, hard as fuck, bleeding, bound, and marked by the very same man standing over him, he was a mess.

Speaking of Dream, he now grabbed Techno's shoulder, flipping him onto his stomach.

"On your knees, ass in the air." Dream told him, grabbing his tied hands and holding them behind his back.

"Dream, I'm not -," Techno started, humiliated at the thought of doing _that_ for Dream, even despite his current erection.

Dream cut him off by yanking his hands back, forcing his back to arch.

"You'll do what I say." he snarled. Techno, too nervous and way too hard to even protest anymore, slowly brought his knees up, bringing his ass into the air. Dream chuckled lowly, causing the humiliated blush on Techno's face to deepen.

"Wasn't that hard now, was it?" Dream asked tauntingly, his tight pull on Techno's arms slackening slightly to let his back relax a bit.

Techno huffed in response, tugging uselessly against Dream's one-handed grip on the restricting leather around his wrists. Dream yanked on them in response, tsking at the disobedience.

"Well, I was going to be gentle, but it seems like you don't really want that, Techno." Dream commented. Based on the rustle of leaves and grass behind Techno, Dream was now on his knees behind him, dick level with his ass.

Techno felt a jolt of fear and dark arousal at the fact that Dream was genuinely going through with this. The mixture of emotions left him silent, neither wanting to turn away from the prospect nor lean towards it. Dream laughed again behind him, and quite quickly Techno was narrowing his eyes to focus on Dream's hand, in front of his mouth.

Techno simply blinked at the hand for a moment, genuinely lost. Then, Dream gave an impatient sigh of annoyance.

"Would you rather me stick them in dry, whore? I knew you were a painslut, but that's a bit far, even for you."

Realization hit him squarely in the face. At the thought of Dream's punishment for ignoring direct instructions and the pain of his fingers going in dry, Technoblade opened his mouth and coated Dream's fingers in his own saliva, cringing at the way he had submitted so easily to the masked man.

Spit wouldn't work as well as lube, but what other option was there?

Dream then pulled his hand away, seemingly satisfied. Some of his own spit dripped down onto his bottom lip, and Techno couldn't wipe it away, considering Dream had both of his hands.

Then, without any verbal nor physical warning, Dream pushed two of his spit-coated fingers into Techno.

Techno gasped, his entire body tensing as pain shot through him. Dream wasted no time in quickly pushing his fingers back and forth, opening and closing them very slightly.

Techno groaned out, the slight hint of pleasure not yet enough to override the consistent pain. Dream suddenly spoke, opening his fingers further in the process,

"Y'know, if you relax, it won't hurt that bad." he commented offhandedly, his tone clearly amused.

So, Techno tried to relax. As the pain grew, he _forced_ himself to relax, and some of the pain ebbed away. It returned in full, though, as Dream added another finger, trying to work Techno open.

Techno let out a pained moan, feeling tears sting at his eyes as the ebbing pain was increased by tenfold.

And yet, despite the pain, every time Dream would curl his fingers slightly, Techno would feel a twinge of pleasure that mingled strangely well with the pain, mixing into an odd sort of euphoria.

Then, just as Technoblade was beginning to get used to the fading pain, he felt Dream's fingers retract fully.

"Wait, you're not going to -," Techno began, feeling a jolt of fear. Sure the fingers had stretched him a bit, but there was no way they would compensate fully for Dream's dick inside of him.

Dream cut him off by pressing against him, the head of his cock positioned at Techno's entrance.

"Dream, pleas - Agh - !" he was stopped mid-word as Dream shifted forward, the head of his dick slipping in. The stretch sent stabbing jolts of pain through him, and already an odd sort of pleasure that was almost lost among the pain.

Dream grunted as he pushed his hips forward further, and he continued pushing until his hips were flush against Techno's ass.

Techno choked on both a dry sob and a moan, tears blurring his vision but not yet falling. He was unable to even form a sentence, his brain ceasing to form any proper thought.

Dream began to move without giving Techno any time to adjust, causing the pain to only worsen. But, along with the growing pain there was a building pleasure every time Dream's hips would come against Technoblade, thrusting deep into him.

Slowly, as Dream continued to move relentlessly, the pain began to ebb. The pleasure was growing, and soon his gasping sobs and groans of pain grew into moans and low groans of pleasure instead.

Dream's pace only increased. Very quickly, his thrusts became relentless, his hips snapping forward to meet Techno's ass with the telltale slap of skin on skin. Every time he would slam back into Techno, Techno would let out a choked moan, too lost in pleasure to keep his resolve to stay silent throughout this.

Dream laughed cruelly as he tugged Techno's arms back, Techno's head rolling back naturally as his back arched and his already fucked-out face coming into Dream's view.

His mouth had dropped open, his tongue lolling out and saliva slowly drooling down his chin. His eyes had rolled back slightly and his eyelids fluttered. His cheeks were a deep red in embarrassment and also with the pleasure that would shoot throughout him every time Dream would slam back into his prostate, hitting it head-on with each thrust.

"Look at you," Dream breathed, his voice only slightly affected as he continued to pound into Technoblade, "you're such a whore. Can't even talk, you dumb slut."

Techno felt a heat pool low in his stomach at the words. The pool only deepened with each direct hit on his prostate, and there was only so much more he could take before he would hit his climax, which he knew wouldn't stop Dream.

Dream's hips snapped forward a few more times, and finally, Techno couldn't hold back anymore. His climax hit him like a wave, crashing over him as he moaned soundlessly, his voice hoarse from his previous sobs and moans. His mouth fell open into a permanent 'o' shape as his head fell forward and he fell limp. He would've fallen forward if it weren't for Dream's hand in his wrists, forcing him to stay up.

And even as the waves of his orgasm washed away, Dream was still slamming into him, only growing somehow rougher with his pace. Techno felt his thighs begin to twitch as he cried out from the overstimulation. Dream laughed savagely, his pace halting for only a moment as his free hand reached forward to fist into Techno's hair, forcing his head up.

"You think you're done, whore? I wasn't kidding earlier. I'm going to make you scream my name until it's the only thing you'll be able to even think anymore." Dream snapped, his voice low and dangerous.

With that, he released Techno's hair, allowing his head to drop again. Dream yanked back on his arms as he picked back up on his pace, pounding into Techno once more.

Techno was hit with a sudden rush of sensations. Pain, at the overstimulation and continued pull on his arms and his scalp, and pleasure as Dream somehow hit his prostate with each and every thrust. Despite his broken cries for Dream to stop, he felt himself grow hard again.

At the moment, he couldn't even bear to think of orgasming _twice_ without even a small break. But, that seemed the only path for him as Dream's relentless pace carried on.

Techno quickly felt that pooling heat low in his stomach, and it grew quickly with him being sensitive from just cumming and the constant stimulation. He cried out, his throat raw as he felt the fear of the pain of a second orgasm so shortly after the first.

He held back for as long as he could, but with Dream's hips constantly snapping forward, and his cock ramming into Techno's prostate constantly, it wasn't long before his climax hit a second time, causing him to fall limp as he nearly screamed at the overwhelming mix of sensations.

His body convulsed as he orgasmed again, and Dream's cruel laugh met his ears again as he sobbed out, tears beginning to run down his face. He felt so _used_ and so _spent_. His body had gone limp, unable to hold itself up through a second orgasm.

Dream really was right. He had him sobbing and twitching from overstimulation, but not yet begging for it to stop. That was mainly due to the fact that he couldn't speak, though.

Dream pulled his hands back as they slipped slightly from his grasp, forcing him to stay upright as Dream used his wrecked body, not caring about how badly Techno wanted this to stop.

Techno's thighs were now shaking from both the force Dream was using as he slammed into him and the overstimulation stinging throughout him. His moans and various sobs and gasps only seemed to urge Dream on as his pace became somewhat reckless. A quietly hopeful voice in Techno's head thought that maybe Dream was nearing his release and that this would soon be over.

The thought brought back a sliver of Techno's determination, and he once again found his voice.

"Dream - P-please - please stop - !" he moaned out brokenly, his voice hoarse and absolutely ruined. Dream only laughed, thrusting harshly into Techno.

"No." he answered, exaggerating his response with another equally rough thrust. Then, without any warning at all, his hand came down suddenly on Techno's ass sharply.

The sudden sharp jolt of pain caused Techno to climax a _third_ time. He screamed out now, a broken, ruined shout of Dream's name. Now, he continued to cry out the masked man's name, unable to process literally any other thought.

" _Dream!_ " he cried out continuously. His voice was going very hoarse and he was definitely going to need an excuse tomorrow as for why his voice was gone.

Just as Techno's voice began to fail, Dream gave one last, final thrust into Techno, and then Technoblade felt Dream release deep inside of him with a low groan. He felt so _used_ and _full_ and _spent_ and so, _so_ tired.

Dream pulled out slowly, and Techno would've winced if he had the energy to. Cum dripped out as Dream exited him, his breathing a bit heavier. Techno was completely ruined as he slumped over, exhaustion getting the best of him.

The last thing he remembered seeing was Dream, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, or maybe concern, carefully slipping what seemed to be a hoodie from his discarded bag over Techno's head.

And then, he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell Rock wrote most of the last bit?


	3. George - ?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Dreamnotfound  
> Author: Styx (again, ahem, Rock)  
> Requested: No sir  
> Enjoy! I really liked this idea but I don't really like how I wrote it. This is a shorter story than what I'd normally write.

George glanced down from his phone, a groan pulling itself from his throat as he realized that he was - somehow - hard.

He really didn't have time for this shit. He had to call Dream in fifteen minute's time for some coding help.

Whatever, he told himself. If he was quick enough, it'd work out fine. If not, he'd have to talk to Dream with an incredibly uncomfortable erection.

Not one to waste time, George slid off of his bed,  
pocketing his phone. He crossed to the bathroom, also not wanting to make a mess of his freshly washed sheets.

The door opened quietly and swung forward easily. George stepped over to the toilet, his lips twitching up in an awkward smile as he undid his belt, cringing internally.

Why was this always so awkward to begin with?

George slid the belt out of each loop easily, setting it on the sink counter. He also took his phone from his pocket, setting it on the counter beside his belt.

He now unzipped his pants, undoing the buttons above shortly after. George pulled his pants down and stepped out of them, now left in his loose boxers that left nothing to the imagination, showing his erection clearly.

George now sat on the toilet seat, biting down on his bottom lip. Somehow, this managed to be incredibly awkward every time, even with no one around but himself.

With an internalized sigh, he brought his hand down to his dick, slowly tracing it with his finger. He felt his breath hitch at the contact on his now painfully hard cock.

Again, not wanting to waste time, he quickly shifted to palming himself instead, his eyelids fluttering and mouth falling open slightly at the pleasure of the mere friction.

He kept at this for about a minute, his blush deepening as he did. The previous awkwardness was now lost, his only focus on the friction his hand was providing.

After palming at himself for a little while, he felt himself wanting just a little more. Giving into temptation, he pulled his boxers down quickly, letting his cock free. The cool air of his bathroom now hitting his exposed dick caused him to hiss lowly, though quickly adjusting.

Without another wasted moment, he wrapped a hand around himself and began to slowly move it up and down, biting his lip harder now to keep in a low groan.

Fuck, this felt good.

He slowly began to adjust his movements, now twisting his wrist slightly as he pumped his hand, his thumb swiping over the tip every now and then, causing his eyes to roll back. He was now panting lightly, his face flushed.

He kept at his pace for maybe three minutes, using all the self restraint he had to not speed up the movement of his hand.

While he needed to hurry, he still had a little while, which he planned to use to the fullest.

Gradually, he did let his hand speed up a little, now bringing his hand up and down quickly as his breathing became heavy, his face drowned in a deep blush.

He didn't increase his pace any further now, not wanting to go over the edge just yet. In fact, he actually began to slow his movements when he felt himself come a bit too close to his climax.

What could he say? He was a sucker for edging.

Slowly, his movements began to slow back to his original pace, keeping the friction but not giving himself nearly enough to come close to cumming.

He let out a reluctant whine, biting his lip a bit harder to keep from just bucking his hips up repeatedly and finishing right then.

But, he had enough self restraint to keep his almost painfully slow pace.

His breathing was still heavy, breath audibly hitching in his throat whenever his thumb would draw itself quickly over the tip of his dick.

As he very gradually began to increase the speed of his hand, he heard his phone buzz, rattling against the smooth countertop.

He ignored it at first, but felt his gaze reluctantly flick over to it when it buzzed a second time. On his phone, he saw he had two texts from "this bitch", or Dream.

The texts read as follows;

"hey dumbass"

"you gonna call me or should i call you? if youre not busy"

A third text came in shortly after.

"well you shouldnt be busy we literally planned this call"

George exhaled sharply, picking up his pace. If he wanted to call Dream anytime soon, he was going to have to finish. Quickly, too.

He brought his hand up and down much more quickly, wrist twisting whenever he would reach the head of his cock. He felt a moan pull itself from low in his chest at the pleasure, eyes rolling back in his head and mouth falling open.

Another text buzzed his phone.

With a annoyed huff, he reached over and grabbed his phone. He unlocked it quickly and opened the messages app. George clicked on Dream's contact, shakily typing out a response while keeping the same pace.

"ooner secnd"

He sent it without a second thought, only focused on his release now. His thoughts slowly began to drift shamefully towards Dream.

The taller, dirty blonde male, slamming repeatedly into George, making him wait for his release as he rammed repeatedly into George's prostate. His green eyes glossed over in lust as he gripped George's waist hard enough to bruise, his blunt nails digging into the delicate skin.

Dream sent him another text, something along the lines of annoyed and confused at George's absence. Annoyed and running short on the whole 'giving a fuck', George gave into temptation.

Without a second thought, George clicked on Dream's contact once again and clicked call.

The phone rang thrice before an answer came through and Dream connected. George continued, not even caring that Dream could definitely hear his heavy breathing and low moans.

"Hey, George, are you ready to start -," Dream began, cutting himself off when George let out a very audible moan.

"George - ?"

George could almost see the way his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out what George was doing.

George breathed out lowly, his head lolled back as he lost himself in the pleasure he was feeling. He didn't even care enough to muffle himself as another broken moan tumbled forth from his throat.

It sounded something along the lines of, "Fuck - DreaM - !"

Dream inhaled sharply as he presumably realized what George was doing, and why he was making the noises he was.

George started to thrust his hips forward to meet his hand, so dangerously close to release.

He brought his hand down four more times, finally cumming with a broken moan of "Dream - !", unable to even think of anyone else at the moment.

His climax hit him hard as his eyes rolled back further and his eyelids fluttered shut, his mouth fallen open to a soft 'O' shape.

As he recovered and sat up from his slumped position, he quickly realized that he was still on call with Dream and spammed the 'End Call' button.

The next text he received from Dream was;

"what the fuck"

And then a second;

"that was hot as fuck"

And finally, a third;

"were u thinking about me or were you moaning for another dream you know?"


	4. Blame it on the Nerves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship; Ahaha its Dreamnotfound again  
> Author: Rock (pog)  
> Requested: Nope  
> Hope you enjoy! Writing skills are a bit off and I was debating writing but Styx is very persuasive.
> 
> (threatening, really)

You'd think that he wouldn't be the type to get caught up over the little things, right? He wasn't one to trip up over small actions, tangling himself in a messy web of feelings, emotions, words, and unsaid sentences that could send the whole web unravelling and tying him back up in a whole new way.

You'd be right, then.

Dream was never one to overanalyze something someone had said. Always skating by on a thin sheet of sarcasm and good natured humor, he never slipped. His footing kept, and the ice never broke.

Well, that was, until Sapnap decided that things were a bit too boring lately. The fiery, fierce spirited dumbass had said something casually in passing and it hadn't left Dream's mind since.

Let me lay it out for you;

A hot summer's day, like any other. The trio was relaxing by some random pond, deep in the forest of nomansland. No one lived here nor owned the forest, and no one tried to. It was a dense, monster of a thing, acres and acres stretching farther than even his skilled eye could see. Wolves and mobs alike milled around the place without hesitation for a good fight. They didn't discriminate between human nor animal and fought viciously.

Dream had the scars to prove it, too. You learn one way or another not to come here alone.

Still, the place was lovely if you knew how to traverse the thick, nearly jungle-like mass of trees. There were sporadic ponds, some even fed into by trickling waterfalls. The occasional clearing made for a perfect sparring ground, and the trio often found themselves strewn around one, panting and sweating after a hard training session.

Anyway, they had been cooling down by one of the ponds, a fairly sized one, too, when a casual argument had broken out between George and Dream. Argument wasn't the right word, actually. More of a sort of mellow bickering between the two.

It started as such;

"Dream, move your damn sword. Gonna stab me." George had muttered, pushing the tip on Dream's sword away from himself.

"Not even close to touching you, quit being a pussy." Dream replied, glancing towards the point of his weapon, which lay inches from George.

"Pussy." Sapnap echoed, probably not even bothering to tune into their conversation besides this short comment.

"I am _not,"_ George countered, "but if you're gonna start that fight, would you like me to remind you of who was the one to stop training cause he didn't want to get hurt?"

That was directed at Dream, though not entirely true.

"Didn't want any of us to get hurt. Netherite swords and no armor, George. Bound to cut each other to pieces." Dream explained, pulling his sword away from George to stop the small feud.

"Well, sorry Dream. Didn't realize you cared that much about us." George replied waspishly, his tone mocking.

"Damn, who hurt you?" Sapnap chimed suddenly, looking up from his blade, which he had been absentmindedly sharpening since they had taken seat.

His comment held some weight, though. George had been on edge all morning, and the frustration seemed to carry through their normal sparring, intensifying instead of cooling off, like Dream had hoped. Now, he was grabbing at any chance to fight with the others, too unwilling to let his anger go.

George muttered something fervently under his breath, his jaw set and his eyebrows furrowed in an all too clear annoyance. Dream snatched the opportunity, smirking broadly as he began his snide remark.

"Speak up, Gogy. Big boy words, c'mon now." he coaxed, the words both teasing and laced with venom.

Unfortunately, it seemed, the sparring session beforehand was unable to ebb at their tempers. The argument was a snowball, rolling steadily downhill and gaining speed and density. Soon, it would hit something or become too big and fester into something dangerous.

George's attention snapped towards Dream, his face twisting into immediate anger.

"Fuck'd you say, Dream?" he snarled, hand reaching for the bow at his side. Sapnap, sensing the growing tension ready to snap, sat up quickly.

"George, drop it. Dream, shut your damn mouth." he said, the two turning to him to protest immediately, defenses and jibes rising to their lips.

"He started it!"  
"He called me -,"  
"Not our dad -,"  
"Nearly stabbed my leg -,"  
"It was _nowhere_ near -!"  
"My ass, it wasn't!"  
"I'd be willing to bet tha -,"

" _Dream!"_ from Sapnap, causing the two to shut up immediately.

"What?" Dream replied casually, leaning back on his hands. "I just said I'd be willing to bet George's ass -,"

"I know what you said, oh my god. I don't wanna hear it from you two anymore." he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face in annoyance, the once serene evening having taken a sour turn.

"Then leave?" George suggested, which Dream nodded along to, probably the only thing they'd ever agree on.

"Then it'd start all over again, you know that. I don't want to have to bring Bad into this, but for fuck's sake -,"

Sapnap was cut off by a familiar voice chiming in with a lighthearted "Language, Sap!"

Turning, they all looked to see Badboyhalo, leant gracefully against a tree at the edge of the clearing. Sapnap sighed in relief, standing up and brushing himself off to cross over to their friend.

"Bad, oh my god, you'd never believe it. These two dumbasses are arguing again, gonna give me a headache. Really, it's like watching a married couple -!" he said all of this very quickly, hands gesturing wildly in agitation.

Bad sighed and turned to look over the two, who were sitting simply. Still, he wasn't the least bit dull and wasn't fooled by the temporary peace. He crossed over and sat, crosslegged, in front of the two. Moments later he was joined by a muttering Sapnap.

"So?" Bad asked, a single eyebrow cocked as he waited patiently.

"Oh, the usual. Prince Gogy thinks he's above the rest of us and can't get over the thought of my sword even so much as entering his line of sight." Dream answered quickly, eyes rolling.

"Not true!" George argued indignantly, "Sir Dream can't handle an ounce of politeness in his blood and he started insulting me the first chance he got."

"Liar."  
"Bitch."  
An exhausted, "Language."

"Look, why don't you guys like, oh I don't know - Have a duel or something? Like, a be all end all. Whoever wins can uh, get bragging rights?" Bad suggested.

"Nah," Sapnap interjected, "somethin' more humiliating for the loser than that."

"What do you think then, Sap?" Bad replied, drumming his fingers on his boots rhythmically.

And, here it was. Sapnap being the absolute son of a bitch he was. Here was that impulsive, humor driven side of their friend. And god damn, Dream regretted every single second that had let up to this moment as the words fell casually from Sapnap's lips.

"Whoever loses," he laughed, mouth curled up into an evil smirk, "has to do the crafting table to the other one."

The response was immediate.

" _Sapnap!_ "  
"W - _What?_ "  
"What does that mean?" Bad chimed, innocently. Honestly, the guy was a lamb.

But Sapnap's only response was to smirk, leaning back as the little sun that had managed to filter through the trees glittered off of his sword.

And so that was how it started. From that point on, the two trained tirelessly. Neither wanted to lose, even though they had reminded each other countless times that Sapnap's suggestion was 'just a joke'.

Dream struck out aggressively at the empty air, his sword slicing in a deadly arc as it landed on it's unseeable mark. He pulled his sword back, imagining the unsettling draw of Netherite on skin. Of course, the real battle would be fully armored, and without major injury to either fighter. Still, Dream thought, George would likely be able to dodge any move Dream threw at him.

That wasn't an understatement, either. Dream had been paying careful attention to George's fighting, even long before the concept of a fight arose. George was amazing, honestly. He would whirl around with such a gracefully deadly accuracy that it was _just_ possible for Dream to step away. George could dodge like no one Dream had ever seen. His speed was unmatched, and it took the entirety of Dream's skill to outwit the other. You had to be fast to face George.

Fast, and have a hell of a lot of bravery. Bravery, or stupidity.

The thought of the brunette sent Dream's sword flying forward again, stabbing brutally into the air in front of him. He took no time waiting as he pulled it back, spinning around. Mid-spin, he leapt into the air so that when he came forward again his sword was making a dangerously beautiful arch, coming down quickly through the air. He landed, and halted his sword around where he assumed George's head would be.

He stilled there for a while, panting and sweating from the hours of exertion. He had been training since midday and the sun was long since gone from the sky. The only lighting cast across the clearing was from a nearby torch, stuck into the ground. Dream stood there for a moment more, and the only change to his stance was the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

"Long day?"

He jumped, whirling around, holding his sword at ready. A figure stood at the edge of the surrounding trees, just far enough from the torchlight to stay anonymous. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forward, taking a cautious step forward.

"Who are you?" he demanded, keeping his sword held easily in his hand, ready to attack.

"What do you mean?" the voice called back. It sounded nothing like any of his friends, nor anyone living nearby. The accent was roughly American, with clipped vowels and a forced sort of casualty. Almost like someone was forcing the accent.

Like they were trying to hide their own accent -

"George, oh my god. You scared me." Dream breathed, lowering his weapon and backing off.

"Damn, was the accent that bad?" George replied, stepping into the gentle glow cast by the torch. His mock accent dropped, and Dream felt a low rush of something warm in his stomach as George's natural accent was once again used.

He blamed it on nerves.

"Terrible." he commented, grabbing his bag off of the hard-packed ground. He slung it over his shoulder and slid his sword into his sheath. He tugged the torch out of the ground and held it aloft in his left hand, his right ready to grab his sword if need be.

George laughed, keeping it quiet so as to not wake the army of mobs in the forest nearby.

"So, you've been out here all day?" he asked, checking his quiver of arrows off-handedly. A guarded sort of concern edged into his voice.

"Only since afternoon." he answered casually. The moon was halfway through the sky. He had been out for hours.

"Dream." George replied, his gaze now fixed on Dream. His eyebrows were drawn together in concern, and his mouth was set.

"What?" he answered, checking over his supplies once more to make sure he had everything.

"You've been out training for seven hours." George answered slowly, his voice taking on a clear concern. "I thought we said it wasn't that serious."

"I'm a competitive person, George." he answered simply, taking a step into the gnarled tangle of trees and undergrowth. He glanced back to see George following carefully, his soft face gently lit by the torchlight. The sight had Dream's stomach twisting, and he looked away to conceal the fact that he had brought his bottom lip between his teeth.

He blamed it on nerves, again.

"Yeah, but -," George began, only to be cut off by the telltale rattling of bones. The pair fell silent as the rattling moved further away, off into the undergrowth. George stepped closer to Dream, their arms brushing against one another.

" _Sh._ " Dream whispered simply, moving further into the woods, towards their shared home.

When they reached home, they both pretended to ignore the tension that had grown between them.

Just like they pretended to ignore the way their hands brushed against each other on the walk home.

Or how they pretended not to notice the concern in George's voice.

Or the way they turned away from Sapnap's casual banter about them both being gone all day in the woods, and ignored one another's gentle blush from the comments.

Or how, when they went to bed that night, both of them turned away from one another, neither acknowledging the painful awkwardness.

And how they pretended to ignore the way Dream finally turned over, late into the night, wrapping his arms carefully around George, burying his head into the older's shoulder.

And how they both pretended in the morning that nothing at all had happened.

The fight was the next day. Bad, Skeppy, Sapnap, Eret, Wilbur, Sam, Ponk, Punz, Callahan, and even the children, Tommy and Tubbo were set to arrive.

Why so many people, Dream had no clue. Sapnap tended to talk quite a bit. He had, of course, argued about the list of people who would watch. Dream wanted nothing more than Sapnap and Badboyhalo to watch. But, he was a competitive person, and this fight might just prove to them all he was the better of the two.

And, it might completely ruin their friendship. Sapnap hadn't yet relented on his suggestion, bringing it up consistently throughout the approaching days. Like now, for instance, with the two of them managing the farm.

Sapnap sprinkled a small pinch of seeds into the damp earth, before pushing dirt over them with the tip of his boot. He glanced over at Dream, who was gathering wheat.

"Y'know, I can finish this if ya' wanna go train. You're s'pose to be fightin' tomorrow, right?" Sapnap asked, pausing the planting.

Dream looked up, squinting against the harsh, glaring sun.

"Yeah," he answered, "but it's fine, I'll train later. Finish this first." he added, continuing to add to his small stock of wheat as he started along the row again.

"Isn't this like, important, though?" Sapnap answered, still watching Dream.

"I mean, I guess." Dream relented, not really sure what Sapnap was trying to get at.

"Well, I just assumed you wouldn't wanna give George head, but whatever." Sapnap answered casually, returning to his planting.

" _What - ?"_ he spluttered, whipping his head around to stare at Sapnap in shock.

Sapnap chuckled, looking up at Dream. "You didn't forget, did you?" he asked, his stupid self confident smirk stuck on his face.

"It was a joke. Nothing's gonna happen." Dream answered firmly. He resumed his reaping stiffly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"Nah." Sapnap answered, throwing a seed at Dream harmlessly.

"Sap, drop it. Not happening." Dream snapped, brushing the conversation off. Sapnap wasn't so willing, though.

"Oh, Dreamie, are you nervous?" he teased. "I'm sure you'll be fine at it, just takes practice -,"

"I'm not gonna loose, Sapnap, oh my god." Dream shot back.

"So you want him to give you head?" Sapnap returned. "Late night cuddles not good enough for you?"

"How do you know - Wait, no - It's not -," Dream sputtered, nearly dropping his armful of harvested wheat.

Sapnap merely shrugged.

He trained late into the night that night. The sun was coming up when George came to bring him back to the house and help his sleep deprived, swaying self into bed. The last dazed memory Dream retained was George, watching him with a soft look, seated on the foot of the trios shared beds.

Dream remembered feeling happy before he slipped off into sleep.

And, later in the morning, George was gone. Dream tried not to overthink it. It wasn't like he was obligated to stay, or anything. Plus, the two were supposed to be fighting soon, and it wasn't like it was a small, offhand fight either. So, Dream tried not to think about it as he got up and got dressed. Once his clothes were on, he began to tack on his armor.

The chest plate went on first, clasping over his chest and sitting there nearly weightlessly. The good thing about Netherite was that despite it's look, it was gracefully light. He clasped on his bracers next, then boots, then chausses, and finally a helmet resting protectively on his head. His armor seemed to shimmer, alight with various enchantments. A quick glance over of his armor left him satisfied with its state, and so he moved onto collecting his weapons and supplies.

He crossed over to his chest, set apart from the shared ones. Inside lay a variety of supplies and weapons, of which he chose a few. He picked a bow, along with a set of arrows, his sword and sheath, which he strapped to his belt, a shield, and a crossbow, which he held at his side. He slung the bow over his shoulder, and the quiver of arrows went along with it. Aside from weapons, he grabbed some food, three ender pearls, five golden apples, and a water bucket. Oh, and of course his bag, which held all of this. The supple leather, though scarred from use, held everything nicely, and it would hopefully for years to come.

A final checkover of his supplies and armor left him with a determined grin as he set out, shutting the wooden door carefully behind him. He traversed the land silently, keeping away from the main path. The fight was set to take place in the woods, in one of the largest clearings so that everyone could fit.

He reached the edge of the forest almost immediately. A quick peak around reassured him that he was alone as he slipped inside, carefully stepping through the gnarled undergrowth. He picked his way through the forest for awhile before he finally made it; emerging into a lovely little clearing. Grass grew here, littered with fallen leaves. The floor was undisturbed by bumps or rocks, and it had been picked clean of sticks the day prior.

It was the perfect place for a duel.

Ringing the clearing were logs, set up carefully the day before to seat the spectators. They were well out of the range of fire, and if anyone felt too unsafe they could sit in the trees instead. Dream knew that Wilbur would send Tommy and Tubbo up there for their safety, and Bad along with them to keep them from falling. Sapnap and Wilbur were set to judge the match, and keep out either of the fighters from harm's way. They would also declare the winner, though Dream assumed that would be obvious by the end of the fight.

No one else was yet in the clearing. He was early, by only a little. Deciding to make his presence unknown, he scaled one of the trees that ringed the clearing and hid himself among the branches and leaves, high above the clearing. He crouched on his branch, watching the clearing and surrounding forest for any sign of movement; human or otherwise.

The first of anything of the sort was a slight, easily missable rustle in a clump of bushes. Dream slid his bow from his shoulder silently, knocking an arrow and aiming it carefully. The movement was very slight, and could very easily have been made by a stray wolf.

But, as the bush parted, Dream breathed a silent sigh of relief as George stepped through instead of a wolf. Dream watched his brown eyes dart quickly around the clearing before setting his bag down. He was wearing his armor as well, and something about the way he seemed so confident and deadly, even, sent a rush of affection through him.

Could he even blame it on nerves?

He shifted, ready to climb down and meet George. But, even as his footing shifted, he stopped. George seemed to let his guard down when he was (presumably) alone, and it was a rare thing to witness.

So, Dream stayed in the tree, perfectly hidden but able to see George clearly. He was able to watch as George shuffled through his pack, eventually withdrawing a bow and his quiver of arrows. He was able to watch as George took up a fighting stance and began to repeatedly shoot into nearby trees. Each arrow stuck, quivering in the bark. He spun, rapidly reloading each arrow and releasing the string. After a short while, he ran out of arrows and let himself glance around at his work.

Almost every tree in front of George and to each of his side that ringed the clearing was stuck with an individual arrow.

Not one of them had missed.

George breathed in slowly and exhaled similarly. After another glance around the clearing, George began to walk around the clearing, retrieving his arrows. As he did, he let them rest back in the quiver after making sure no bark was stuck on the ends. A small indent was left in the trees - nothing time wouldn't fix.

George drew another arrow, fitting it into his bow. Suddenly, he paused, cocking his head.

The source of his sudden halt was obvious; a boisterous laughing and talking emitting from the woods. The main source of noise emerged from the trees just as George put his weapon away.

Sapnap, followed by a group of laughing, joking spectators. Everyone who hadn't yet arrived. Sapnap was in the middle of talking animatedly, and George grinned at their arrival.

Dream debated hopping down and blending in with the group, but decided against it. His own entrance had to be much more dramatic than that.

"George!" Sapnap called, his grin only growing, eyes wrinkling as he smiled. "I was just talking about you! Nothing good, of course." he joked, smirking.

Their conversation continued happily as Dream watched, an unconscious smile on his lips. They just looked so happy, it was nice to see.

After a few minutes of setting up and more chatter among the group, Sapnap pointed something out.

"George, you seen Dream?"

George paused for a moment, thinking before he replied. "No, maybe he's late? He'll probably show soon enough."

Sapnap murmured his agreement, turning back to the group of people and joining the ongoing conversation.

After watching the growing restlessness of the group with an amused smirk, Dream finally decided the tension had grown enough for his entrance to have it's effect.

With a perfect silence about his movements, he maneuvered himself until he was hanging from his branch by his hands only. Then, with a continued silence, dropped down to the ground, crouching to reduce the impact, though a dull thud still sounded with his arrival.

Everyone turned, smiles growing on everyone's face as they quickly realized who it was that had dropped from the trees. Only George, it seemed, realized what must've gone down. Amid the chattering greetings, his accented voice broke through.

"Dream, have you been up there the whole time?"

Dream nodded, standing fully now. "Long enough to see you get here." he answered casually, knowing how George would react.

"Wait, so you saw me -," George began, his eyes wide.

Sapnap cut him off with a raised hand. "George, shut up, we have a duel to watch. We don't want to hear your lover's quarrel."

This earned a short protest from George. Dream would've joined him but there was enough experience in his and Sapnap's friendship to know that it was useless.

"So, ladies!" Sapnap called out, spreading his arms wide, addressing the whole clearing of people now.

"Shall we get started?"

After a few more more moments of chatter and switching seats, the spectators were ready. Tommy and Tubbo, Bad accompanying them, had been escorted up into the trees despite their protests. Wilbur and Sapnap were standing at opposite ends of the clearing, leaving the whole of it for the fighters. Dream gave George a curt nod before striding over to his end of the clearing.

George took his side with an anxiously determined look in his eyes. The way he way lightly crouched, his bow held ready at his right side, his left hand ready to draw an arrow was enough for Dream to prepare himself to raise his shield. No doubt that George would fire his bow repetitively, until he at least struck Dream's armor.

Even as Dream drew his sword, he heard Sapnap shout out.

"Three!"

Then, Wilbur,

"Two!"

Sapnap again,

"One!"

And finally, in a conjoined shout from the two,

"Go!"

An arrow was knocked and fired from George rapidly, giving Dream enough time to duck behind his shield. The arrow stuck in the hardened wood, quivering from the sheer force George had fired with. Not wanting to catch another arrow, Dream leapt forward, his sword held ready to strike. George tossed his bow aside and drew his sword quickly, back-stepping. Dream swung into the air where George had been moments before, a waste of energy. Not wanting to waste his momentum, he used his landing to step forward again in procession, swinging up at George.

And even though he moved quickly and with purpose, he aimed to miss. His blow glanced off of George's shield, and in return he found himself ducking away from a well-placed slash at his head.

They were inches away. Dream could almost feel the heat radiating from George, the adrenaline, the way he came alive in a battle. The closeness didn't last, though, as George side stepped, rolling forward to snatch his bow and quickly turning and loosing another arrow at Dream, who was able to just raise his shield in time to catch the arrow. George, still on his knee, knocked another arrow and shot it instead at Dream's legs. The arrow hit his chausses, moving too quickly for Dream to protect himself or even move. The force of the hit must've left a forming bruise, and Dream hissed in pain.

He returned the hit with a swing of his sword, his vigor all too evident in the nearly feverish way his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth twisted into a snarl. Hit sword stuck into George's barely raised shield, but he was quick to withdraw and slash downwards again. His sword dented George's left shoulder pad, causing George to let out a groan of pain as he scrambled back, struggling to his feet. His off-balance was short lived. George was back in the game as soon as Dream took a step back, planning his next move immediately.

The fight continued like this for awhile. They would fly around each other in a deadly dance, their heated skin mere inches from one another in one second and feet apart in the next. Dream drew his bow for awhile, using it to trade shots with George before he tossed it aside, disliking the chess-like way they traded useless shots, each arrow sticking in a shield with a dull thud. They swirled around each other in a deadly flurry of blades, trading blows and blocks. Each of them ran with sweat and thin streams of blood from accidental cuts to unprotected skin. Forming bruises decorated each of their bodies, most of which hidden under dented armor. Dream had long since given up in protecting his undisturbed appearance in return for an upper hand. His hair was disheveled, tousled around his face and dampened with sweat. His face was flushed with heat and exertion, and sweat ran down his face and was sticking his clothes to his heated skin.

George looked no better. His hair had fallen from it's naturally neat form and was now strewn randomly around his face. His brown eyes were alight with a fierce determination and his face was constantly twisting with fear and rage and pain. He was a constantly changing form, his body twisting and moving consistently as he dodged and weaved and attacked. His pale cheeks were tinged red and the color only deepened as they continued their dancing duel.

And it was as such that their dance fell;

Dream and George were facing one another, their staring positions reversed. Dream was advancing quickly, his sword held dangerously at his side. George was backing away, his eyes hard and eyebrows drawn together in annoyance. As Dream drew his sword back, George's footing slipped. How it happened, even Dream didn't see.

George fell backwards onto his back, catching himself on his elbows. He scrambled backwards as a gasp drew itself from his throat as his left arm flew in front of his face to protect himself, shielding his eyes.

Dream brought the tip of his sword to George's throat quickly, and all fell silent. The only noise was that of the two fighter's heavy breathing. Everyone was still, and then -

"Dream won!" Tommy had shouted. It broke the silence, and chaos erupted around the two. George's arm fell from his face, an exhausted grin on his face.

Dream retracted his sword and extended a hand to George, a similar smile on his face.

Sapnap ran over to them, grinning widely. Wilbur approached similarly from the other end, laughing. Sapnap seemed ecstatic, gesturing widely.

"That was amazing!"

Wilbur joined in.

"You guys were - just, oh it was insane!"

Everyone from around the clearing got up, running over and joining in with their own excited shouts. Badboyhalo helped the children down from the trees.

"Dream!"  
"You guys are incredible!"  
"I never thought it'd end!"  
"Insane - !"  
"Couldn't even see what was happening - !"  
"So quick - !"

Their excited shouts and exclamations of surprise fell silently on Dream's ears as he looked over at George.

His brown eyes were shining happily, his white teeth flashing as he grinned. George looked happy, joyous even. A cut from just above his eyebrow was running, and he continuously swiped it away with his arm, completely unhindered by it as he was still grinning, nodding and accepting the praises with glimmering eyes.

Dream was still watching him as Sapnap shooed everyone to the side, having the two friends stand side by side.

Dream was still watching him as Sapnap stood between them, grabbing both of their arms.

Dream was still watching him as Sapnap raised his left hand high into the air, announcing him as the winner of their duel.

He only broke his gaze when they both took a deep bow before standing straight once more. He stared straight ahead, over the heads of his friends and into the forest. Sapnap released his arm and Dream stepped aside, grabbing George's.

He pulled him close, bringing his mouth to George's ear.

"Good job." he whispered lowly. Then, he released George and broke away. He could've sworn he saw George shudder, his eyes widening.

With a final, short wave, he walked off into the forest, back towards their home.

The house was warm. The rays of sun filtering through the windows warmed the wooden floors, which creaked gently under every step. Crossing over to his chest, he set everything back inside that he had taken. His armor, his weapons, his supplies; everything.

Well, everything except for his sword and sheath, and a few pieces of food tucked into his pack. Then again, he always carried these things on him.

He began to wipe off his bloodied body with a random rag, taking extra care around his bruises. Once the majority of the blood had been wiped away, he began to bandage the wounds. None were too bad, thankfully. George had seemed just as reluctant as Dream had been to harm the other. Still, that hadn't been enough to stop the multiple bruises and soon-to-be scars that now decorated his body.

Oh well, he didn't mind. Wasn't like he was living an injury-free life otherwise.

As he tossed the rag back into one of the chests, he heard the door open and shut as someone stepped in. Not bothering to turn around, Dream raised his hand shortly in greeting.

"Hey, Sap." he greeted, rifling through the chests. Where had he put that iron - ?

"Oh, it's not - uh, it's just me. George." the person replied. Dream turned, realizing that it was, in fact, George.

"Oh, then hey George." he replied, turning back to his search.

George remained silent for a moment. When he spoke up again, his voice was wavering under a clear nervousness and building anxiety.

"Uh, yeah - Well, uhm, Sapnap sent me here." he said. "To do something." he added quickly, shuffling his feet.

Dream glanced over his shoulder once more at the brunette. Concern drew his eyebrows together, and George's tone was enough to make him straighten up and turn to face the other fully.

"What'd he sent you to get?" Dream asked, assuming he had asked for something of Dream's. Maybe that would explain George's reluctance.

George shook his head, biting his lower lip. "He uh, he didn't send me to get something."

Dream was now incredibly confused. "What'd he want you to do then?" he asked.

Even as he said the words, realization set in. Sapnap really wasn't going to let his suggestion go, was he? A quick, subtle glance around the house brought something to Dream's attention.

A crafting table, clearly freshly made, sitting by the stairs leading upwards.

He turned his gaze back to George, feeling a growing tingling in his stomach.

He could definitely blame this on nerves.

"Dream." George breathed, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Remember what Sapnap said? At the pond?" he asked, clearly trying to get Dream to say it instead of himself.

"About us fighting all the time? Yeah." he answered, fighting back a grin.

"No -," George cut him off, slightly annoyed at having to be the one to say it.

"About the duel? Whoever looses has to -," George began.

"Oh!"' Dream cut him off, nodding, "Bragging rights, or whatever? I don't care, honestly." he answered.

George blinked. "Oh my god." he muttered, running a hand through his tousled hair. "You're gonna make me say it, aren't you?"

"Say what, Georgie?" Dream answered, his voice far too innocent to be even close to normal.

George stepped towards him, his face set in determination. His smaller stature was completely forgotten as he shoved Dream forward, his voice low and tinged with something Dream couldn't place.

"Get on the crafting table, Dream."

And holy fuck he'd be lying if he said that didn't send chills down his spine and light his face one fire.

He back stepped quickly, raising his hands into the air in a sort of protective retreat. Externally, he was grinning slightly, a bit of nervousness showing in his eyes.

Internally, though? He was spinning.

His thoughts were a jumble of ' _what the fuck' 'oh my god'_ and, ' _this isn't happening what the hell'_. He was panicking, a total mix of wanting and loving every second of this and completely wrecked, nerves building. What if their friendship was ruined over this? What if they were never able to casually joke around by the ponds anymore?

He made an internal note to kill Sapnap. Twice.

George seemed to get over some sort of internal conflict as he followed Dream. After a few short steps back, Dream felt himself back up into the crafting table.

No going back now, right?

With a short chuckle, he hopped onto the table, his legs dangling off. He passed a hand through his hair, throwing his head back and biting back a cringed smile. When he brought his gaze back down, he felt all the air rush forth from his lungs.

In front of him was George, kneeling and red-faced. His glittering brown eyes were glazed over with a sort of emotion Dream hadn't seen from him before. What was it?

It couldn't be -

Lust?

The sight had sent Dream's gaze away once again as he bit his lower lip. He could already feel his pants growing tight, and nothing had even happened.

Oh, what the fuck? There was no way, _no way_ that Dream was seriously half-hard just from George in front of him.

George looked up at him as Dream looked back. His soft lips curled up into a smirk as he saw Dream's reaction. His eyelashes fluttered as he blinked, still smirking.

"Excited?" he teased, biting his bottom lip with his canine tooth to try to reign in his amused smirk.

"Shut up, George." Dream breathed, glaring at the older. His hands gripped the edge of the crafting table, trying to steady himself.

George shrugged, "I'm just saying, if you don't want to do this, I'll go -,"

Dream groaned, " _George_ , you're teasing."

George laughed, shifting to a more comfortable position. He looked up at Dream once more, teasingly. Then, he brought his hand up to Dream's zipper, and, slowly, he began to bring the small metal piece down. Once he brought it to the bottom, he unbuttoned the two buttons above it and tugged the waistband of Dream's pants down.

Dream gasped quietly. Even though he knew what would happen, he still couldn't help but be shocked at George's lack of shame or hesitation.

Not that he was complaining.

George sighed quietly as he tauntingly tugged at the hem of Dream's boxers. The hot rush of air from George's mouth brought into light how truly close he was to Dream. Dream could feel the air hit the outline of his cock, which was now basically begging to be released.

George looked at Dream once more, a smirk on his face. This time, it was clear what glazed over his eyes. It was, in fact, lust. A clear lust and even a bit of want clouded his gaze.

Then, he pulled down Dream's boxers, his smirk only intensifying.

Dream gasped very audibly now, cold air wrapping around his cock. He rolled his head back now, hiding his flushed face from George's view.

There was nothing he could do, though, to hold back a low groan when George began to tease at the head of his dick with his tongue. And, it drew an equally loud moan from him when George gave this up and wrapped his lips around Dream and slowly began to bob his head.

He groaned, looking back down at George. The sight below him had his cock twitching in George's mouth. George was struggling to the entire girth of Dream's cock in his mouth, his plush lips wrapped hotly around Dream.

It took nearly all of his self restraint to hold back his hands from reaching down and fisting themselves in George's messy hair. For the time being, though, he lost himself in the pleasure of the tight heat of George's mouth. There was no way George wasn't hearing his low groans and barely held-back moans. He had always been rather audible in bed, and this was no different. If anything, he was even louder with George.

George suddenly went much deeper, Dream's cock hitting the back of his throat. There was now nothing Dream could do to keep himself from bucking his hips forward, groaning loudly. He heard George gag and choke below him.

George pulled off quickly, spit dripping down his reddened lips. He coughed, doubling over momentarily.

Dream felt a rush of regret, "Shit, George - I'm sorry, I didn't -,"

George shook his head, straightening his posture. He wiped the spit from his lip with his thumb, recovering from the the trigger of his gag reflex, "It's fine - You can do it again." he answered.

Dream breathed out slowly, nodding. He choked on another gasp as George wrapped his mouth around Dream's dick again, bobbing his head quickly as he went deeper and deeper. The sudden pleasure was too much, and Dream couldn't help himself as he brought his hand into George's hair, grabbing a fistful. George groaned at the dull tug, and Dream could feel him slowly going limp, letting Dream use him.

And so Dream did, his hips thrusting forward into George's mouth as his hand pulled George's hair. He could feel George's throat tighten around him, and George's eyes rolled back as he let out a muffled moan. Dream huffed, nearing release much quicker than he ordinarily would.

George's moans were only bringing him closer to the edge, sending vibrations down his cock. The noises he made were something from a fantasy, things Dream had thought of late at night, out in the woods. Dark thoughts he had been far too scared to act on or even think of in the sunlight.

George's throat slowly began to relax, able to take Dream's consistent thrusts without tightening. George was also able to take Dream's cock down his throat without choking, the constant trigger of his gag reflex evening out.

Dream was so close. It was like a rubber band pulled taught, ready to snap. And he was ready to let it snap, pulling it too far.

"Fuck, George," he panted, "taking me so well, damnit," he groaned lowly, and George let out another moan around him.

With another few thrusts into George's mouth, he finally reached his climax, thrusting hard into George and holding him down as he released. George let out a muffled gag, and Dream quickly pulled out, cum dripping down George's swollen, red lips. The sight was truly something else, and Dream would've came from it if he hadn't just done so.

"Dream -," George breathed, his voice absolutely ruined.

The two were both breathing heavily, faces flushed. George looked up at Dream, his cheeks red and lips similarly colored. Dream slid off of the table, extending a hand to George. Both of them were exhausted as George stood shakily.

Dream led them both over to their shared beds. They both collapsed next to each other, Dream still half-naked. He pulled a blanket over them both, wrapping his arms around George. They were both gross, covered in sweat and dirt and probably a bit of cum, but they'd clean off in the morning.

Sapnap sighed, finally able to open the door and come in. He'd been waiting outside forever, waiting for the two to finish and lay down. He laid far away from the pair of them, muffling a chuckle with his hand.

They would never hear the end of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just write over 7,000 words of buildup and smut? Yes, yes I did. And I'd do it again.
> 
> Criticism and feedback are greatly appreciated!


	5. Shut the Hell up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship; Sapwastaken  
> Author; Both of us :D  
> Requested; No sir
> 
> I really like this idea. Also, this one is more of a lime so no smut, sorry!

Clay pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. If Nick didn't shut his damn mouth any time soon, Clay was gonna kill the bitch.

" _Woo! Let's go!"_

Nick's voice came through the thin walls easily. Clay had reminded him repeatedly that it was well past two a.m. and Clay was not in the mood to deal with this. He groaned again when another shout from Nick.

He stood, flinging his phone onto his bed as he crossed the room to his door. The trio shared a house, and George wasn't home tonight, so now it was Clay's job to deal with Nick's loud ass. Normally, he wouldn't even be yelling so late if George were home, since the brunette usually kept him in line. But now that he was out for the night, Nick had no problem with annoying the hell out of Clay.

Nick and Clay argued all the time. They were two large personalities, and when there was no one to diffuse the tension they were at each other's throats constantly. Obviously, George normally kept them from killing each other, but when he wasn't there the two argued like children.

Clay opened his door harshly, letting it bang into the wall loudly. He stalked down the hallway to  
Nick's room, pushing the unlocked door open.

Nick looked up from his computer, a smirk already pulling at his lips. He had been playing games apparently, judging by the headset nestled in his hair. Clay bit his tongue for a second, holding back the slew of rude remarks he had ready. Instead, he tried with the most polite approach he had at the moment.

"Shut the hell up."

Nick burst out laughing, leaning back in his chair and taking off his headphones, letting them clatter onto his desk.

"Damn, someone need their beauty sleep?" Nick chuckled, running a hand through his headset-dented hair.

"Nick, it's late. Just shut the fuck up and go to bed, or just shut up, I don't even care." Clay answered exasperatedly, his temper running thin.

Nick mouthed his words back at him mockingly, standing and grabbing an empty water bottle from his table and moving towards the door to throw it away. Clay, however, blocked him and pushed him back by his chest.

Nick once again moved to shove past him, but Clay only pushed him back harder this time.

"Clay, move." Nick muttered, stepping forward again. And, again, Clay shoved him back.

"Are you gonna stop yelling, then?" he snapped back, eyes narrowing in annoyance as they glared at one another venomously.

"No?" Nick laughed scornfully, "You're not my mom."

Clay, now extremely fed up with Nick's shit, shoved him back harshly by his shoulders, practically towering over him. Nick retaliated with a blow aimed directly at Clay's face. The hit landed against his mouth, causing him to step back and hold his now-busted lip.

"Fuckin' dumbass." Clay cursed, stepping forward as he wiped the trickling blood from his lower lip. Nick stepped back almost nervously, seemingly regretting hitting the older.

Clay grabbed his throat and shoved him against a wall, his other hand using his sleeve to staunch the gentle trickle of blood. Nick gasped, his cheeks coloring darkly. His eyes went very wide and his mouth was shut tight, almost as though he were repressing something.

Clay pressed harder against his throat as he spoke, his voice so low it was nearly a growl.

"You think that's funny?" he snapped, his once-shining eyes now dulled-over in anger.

Nick shrugged. His jaw was still set in a gesture of fear but a confident smirk was creeping onto his lips and amusement shone in his eyes.

"Kinda. Probably hurt like a bitch, didn't it?" he replied. His voice had a forced sort of casualty and aloofness around it, and it was clear that he was hiding something.

"Hardly," Clay answered, his fingers tightening, "you punch like a girl."

Nick laughed outwardly at this, but the amusement had been stolen from his gaze. There was something else, some other emotion behind those dilated pupils that Clay hadn't seen from his friend before and he was struggling trying to place it.

Clay loosened his grip by a little, just to make sure that Nick could actually breathe. Not that he would've cared if the other would pass out.

At least he'd shut up then.

"Are you done screaming, then?" Clay asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. Nick shook his head with a shrug.

"Probably not. Still got the rest of the night, don't I?" Nick answered, causing Clay to roll his eyes in annoyance.

He pressed harder on Nick's neck as he leaned forward, their faces now inches apart from one another. Clay could see Nick's pupils contract before dilating further, and he was able to see the way his eyes widened quickly in response to the added pressure.

"You know I could keep you here all night, right?" Clay grinned, his eyes twinkling. "I don't mind."

Nick's eyes suddenly light up, and his lips twitched as he tried to reign in a grin. A puff of air blew from his nose as he clearly struggled to contain a laugh.

"What's so funny?" Clay snapped, the twinkle now gone.

Nick diverted his gaze as his laugh finally escaped. It took him a moment to quit laughing enough to respond.

"I mean, that's pretty kinky, Clay. Keeping me pinned to the wall all night."

And that was all it took. Whatever broil of unfiltered rage and hidden lust and possibly feelings for the other that had been buried for years now boiled over. He felt a wave rush through him, and he lost any train of thought he might've had.

And, fueled by this wave, Clay moved forward and brought their lips together in a feverish kiss, a messy, furious kiss that was completely untapped. A noise of surprise came from the younger, but his lips were already moving against Clay's, and he didn't move away.

Heat radiated from the both of them, swirling and raging through the kiss and surging throughout them both. It was an odd mix of anger and want and a new sort of regretful freedom. This was a line neither of them had dared cross, though they had toed it jokingly. The kiss they shared was something unlike Clay had ever experienced. It was angry and amazing and infuriating. He was _angry_ at Nick but why was this so good? It was furious and passionate and incredible. Their strong personalities shone through clearly in their passion with the kiss and even though Clay had started it, the kiss quickly became a competition between the two.

After what felt like forever, Clay was forced to pull away by the lack of air. He and Nick gasped in synchrony as he detached from the younger with a harsh noise. Clay's hand was still on Nick's throat, and he could feel the way his heartbeat thudded steadily against his fingers as Nick panted for air.

Clay was leaned forward slightly, his head bowed gently as he tried to recover from whatever _that_ was.

Neither of them spoke for a long while, at first for the sake of catching their breath and then out of awkardness. It wasn't until Nick spoke up that the dark room was filled again with sound.

"Jesus, Clay." he breathed, letting his head lean back on the wall and his eyes look up at the ceiling. This prompted Clay to look up at Nick, and when he did he could've sworn he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Nick was a mess. His was was flushed and his lips were red and covered in a sheen of saliva. His mouth had fallen open very slightly as he panted, and he looked wrecked. With his eyes rolled back like how they were, it was hard to tell what he was feeling and thinking, but hopefully it was somewhat similar to Clay's current thought process.

Clay's grip on Nick's neck had loosened significantly, and as he straightened up, he readjusted his hold, rewrapping his fingers around the delicate skin. This brought Nick's gaze back to him as he quirked an eyebrow, his eyes glazed over.

Clay, his eyes still locked with Nick's, suddenly had an idea, one stemming from his hand's current position.

What if he were to leave hickeys? How badly would Nick kill him later on?

Deciding that he didn't care for the consequences, Clay leaned in again. Just as the distance between them was nearly gone, he brought his hand up a little and used it to force Nick's head to the side, getting a better access to his neck. He then began to leave light, airy kisses along Nick's jaw as he moved towards his neck. With every kiss that got lower and lower, they became more savage and rough. Once he had reached Nick's neck, he was leaving small nips and bites.

Then, he attached his lips to Nick's skin and started to suck a hickey into the skin.

This drew a choked gasp from Nick as his body reactively jerked. Clay grinned internally as he grew a bit more aggressive. He had began gently, but the fiery passion and rage from their kiss had carried over, and it wasn't long before Clay began to ravage Nick's neck and collarbone, scattering hickeys and kisses and bites all over the sensitive skin, searching for his soft spots and finding them easily.

This drew a myriad of noises from Nick, all of which he tried and failed to muffle. You could feel the tension and broiling emotions in the room frothing and nearing a sort of edge. Like a stone on the edge of a cliff, teetering dangerously. When it fell, who knows what it would crush and ruin.

As Clay brought his teeth down rather aggressively and Nick let out a particularly loud groan, a sudden noise caused them both to halt dead in their tracks.

A door had opened, and a voice had called out to announce the speaker was home early.

The voice was unmistakably George's. And they were fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make a part two of this maybe?? But I really wanted to get a part out today so it's a bit rushed.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Feedback/criticisms are always greatly appreciated!


	6. Would you Also Like me to Fucking Resurrect Jesus?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author; Styx  
> Ship; Schlatt x Quackity (I'm not sure what their ship name is)  
> Requested; Yep! Our very first request, by @RewriteOur_Stars ( on wattpad )
> 
> Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy :) Also, this story is going to take place while Schlatt is still president of Manburg, with Quackity as his vice president.

He had decided hours ago that he hated work. He hated this stack of papers on his desk, he hated the fact that he still had to go through all of them, he hated the damn suit he was wearing, he hated it.

Schlatt had long since grown irritable and snappy, shouting at any interruptions to his tedious work. As he scratched out another signature with his pen, he couldn't help but run a hand through his hair in dismay at the seemingly endless pile of papers in front of him, not to mention the ones scattered around his desk in a complete mess.

As he grabbed another paper from the pile, he heard the signature click of his door opening.

Schlatt's gaze snapped over to the door, watching as it opened with an incessant creak. A figure stepped through, who Schlatt quickly recognized as Quackity.

Schlatt's hardened gaze followed him as he shut the door, stepping towards the desk with quick movements. He looked busy, and like he had places to be. He was wearing a deep blue suit and a crisp black tie, though he'd discarded his signature beanie, and his raven-black hair was strewn messily around his head.

Quackity began talking, his tone urgent and obviously stressed,

"Schlatt - Er, I mean, Mr. President, I'm here 'cause the citizens. They're not very happy, and some are even considering going to Pogtopia. They say you're a tyrant and you're always drunk, and you don't care about them and only the power -,"

Quackity was cut off by Schlatt grabbing his tie, yanking the ravenette towards him harshly.

"Alex, do I seriously look like someone who wants to be bothered right now?" he snarled, his eyes radiating a serious sort of anger that Quackity did _not_ want to receive the tail end of.

"No." he murmured quietly, diverting his gaze downwards, trying to keep the tie around his neck from choking him.

Schlatt let go of his tie and shoved him away as he stood, his annoyance and hatred for the pile of papers on his desk making him violent. The horned man began pacing, his shoes emitting a dull click every time they hit the floor of his office. He began muttered fiercely to himself, both hands jammed into his pockets as he paced back and forth.

"Work, day and night, and they complain? I saved them from that tyrant, that - that _stupid_ British fuck, and they call _me_ power-hungry?" he muttered, eyes focused on the ground below him.

Quackity walked around the desk, now standing beside Schlatt's chair and trying in vain to calm the mess of a president down.

"Schla - I mean, Mr. President, there's really no need to stress, I can take care of it, honestly -," Quackity began, fixing his ruffled tie as he spoke.

Schlatt turned on him very suddenly, grabbing the ravenette's throat in his hand and pushing him back until his back hit the desk. Quackity fell silent, eyes blown wide in fear. Schlatt, with anger lacing every syllable, snarled down at his Vice President,

"You really think I care how it gets done, bitch? Just get it done. Quickly, too." he snarled, his teeth practically bared in his anger.

Quackity, his eyes previously widened, now responded angrily, seemingly sick of being pushed around by this 'President'.

"Sorry, _Sir,_ " he snapped, emphasizing the 'sir' mockingly, "I'll get it done right away, would you also like me to fucking resurrect Jesus?" he asked sharply, his hands gripping the desk behind him.

Schlatt laughed at this, surprised at the outburst. He laughed so demeaningly that Quackity bit his lip in anger, diverting his enraged gaze to the side.

"I think you've forgotten your place, _Vice President,_ " Schlatt laughed cruelly, his hardened gaze now glimmering with an idea, "Get on your knees for me."

Quackity paused for a moment in confusion, before his eyes widened in disgust and he looked up at Schlatt in a mix of horror and disgust.

"What - ? Schlatt, there's no way I'm gonna -," Quackity began, but he was cut off by Schlatt calloused hand, tightening around his throat threateningly.

"You'll do it, or I'll force you to. I'm fine either way." the horned man answered dangerously. Quackity knew he wasn't kidding, either. The President wasn't someone to cross, considering he had no consequences and no morals.

So, with a humiliating slowness about his movements, Quackity brought himself to his knees in front of The President, his head hung low. The new position forced Schlatt to remove his hand from Quackity's throat, but the sight still brought another cruel laugh from Schlatt.

"Look at you! This'll be easy, then, won't it? Won't even have to force you at all." Schlatt laughed, his hand already moving to undo his belt buckle.

((I feel that now would be a good time to remind you all that consent is very hot and this is _fiction_. If someone treats you like this without previous and current consent, please reach out to law enforcement !! Anyway I'll shut up now))

Tugging his belt from it's loops, Schlatt tossed it off to the side without much care, already working on his zipper. Below him, Quackity was biting his lip, his mind working fervently for an idea, some sort of plan to get him out of this.

Despite his wild thoughts, though, he felt a boiling wave of shame at how much he was enjoying this. Something about the pure distaste in Schlatt's voice and the rough treatment was turning him on in the best way possible while also being the worst thing he's ever had the embarrassment to say he'd enjoyed.

Then, to break him from his thoughts, he felt Schlatt grab his chin, forcing his head up and forcing his mouth open with his thumb harshly. While Quackity had been thinking, he hadn't noticed Schlatt tugging down both his pants and boxers.

So now he was fully unclothed from the waist down, save for his shoes and socks.

Quackity began to protest, but his short sentence was stopped as Schlatt shifted forward, and, with his thumb still forcing Quackity's mouth open, his cock was now inserted alongside it, the girth already making his jaw ache.

Now, let me make this clear now, Quackity was fucked. Not just literally, because he was in that sense as well. But the literal element was nothing compared to the danger Schlatt possessed. He was, well, ruthless. He was violent, probably half-drunk, high, and sleep deprived. Even without these motivating elements, he was a cruel, harsh man. Also, he had _zero_ limits. He'd stop at nothing to get his own enjoyment, regardless of whatever it meant for others. So, with Quackity under him, in such an already vulnerable position, there was truly no escape for the ravenette.

Anyway, back to the story.

Schlatt pushed forward further, sliding his thumb out as he chuckled ruthlessly. He wasted none of his own time letting Quackity adjust as he began to thrust forward, each of his thrusts bringing him deeper down Quackity's mouth, and gradually, throat.

Quackity choked below him, gagging as he struggled to pull away. A convenient fact about his current position, though, a desk was directly behind him. As he pulled away, he slammed his head into the desk and groaned in pain, only seeming to motivate the ram man further.

Schlatt thrusted forward again, ramming his head into the desk while also ruining his throat and surely his voice for the next few days.

Quackity felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, the sting of the tears making his eyes blurry. The combination of the slam of his head on solid wood and the consistent trigger of the back of his throat being hit was exceedingly painful.

Schlatt, without the grip on Quackity's throat, felt like his control over the shorter of the two was slipping. So, he instead brought his hand into the long strands of black hair and fisted his hand in, tugging hard. He only laughed at Quackity's obvious pain, feeling no stab of pity, only a hunger for more.

Quackity cried out around Schlatt's length, drawing a grunt from him as his hips snapped forward once more, his head slamming once more into the desk.

Quackity was now going limp, trying his hardest not to stop this anymore, but instead struggling to minimize the pain.

Schlatt, with complete disregard for anything Quackity was feeling, began to abuse his throat roughly, his hand yanking hard on his hair, his laugh echoing hauntingly off of the walls.

Quackity now felt his head going a bit fuzzy. He was struggling to get air through his nose, with his mouth being blocked in all. With every cry of pain, he could feel more of his consciousness slipping from his grasp. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his cries of pain muted themselves as Schlatt continued to ram into Quackity's mouth. Schlatt didn't yet notice this, or if he did, he didn't care. Just as blackness was clouding his vision, he felt Schlatt pull out, saliva dripping down his lips.

He coughed and spluttered, falling forward. He hunched over, coughing violently through his gasps for air. He felt his consciousness returning, and the floor came back into his blurry vision. Quackity felt tears drip humiliatingly down his cheeks and onto the wooden floor.

Remember what I said about Schlatt being ruthless? Yeah, this was his warming up.

Schlatt suddenly grabbed him by the hair again, forcing him to his feet. Quackity, still wobbly from nearing the brink of lucidity, stumbled to his feet, barely standing on his unreliable legs. Schlatt forced his head back, bringing his mouth to the shorter's ear.

"Now, if you even try to fight back," he sneered, "I'll kill you here and now. I can find another Vice President, so don't even try it."

Quackity knew he wasn't lying.

So, as Schlatt forced him to turn around and bend over the desk, he didn't resist. He slumped forward onto the desk, grateful for the solidity of it.

As Schlatt tugged the waistband of his pants down, Quackity tried to remember how this had gone last time.

Yeah, last time. This wasn't the first time they'd messed around like this. Let's just say Schlatt's sex drive is constantly at an all-time high and he didn't care to rail Quackity on a desk at any time of the day. Quackity was used to this cruel treatment, and even enjoyed it, no matter how rough. He knew Schlatt would never go _too_ overboard, and they had a messy safeword system, where if Quackity really couldn't take it anymore, he'd either say 'Yellow' or pinch Schlatt.

So, nothing terrible had happened so far.

Quackity felt this thought be ripped from his mind as Schlatt pressed the head of his cock to his ass. Fear replaced his previous muddle of thoughts, and he began wriggling wildly.

"Wait, you can't just do that without pr -,"

Schlatt, it seemed, had mastered the art of shutting Quackity up mid-sentence.

A metallic click came from behind Quackity. Well, maybe click wasn't the best way to describe it. The better way to describe it would be the sound of a gun being drawn and cocked.

Quackity fell completely silent. Schlatt always carried a handgun on him, how could he have forgotten?

"What was that, Quackity? I didn't quite hear you." Schlatt asked, smugness evident in his tone. Quackity only bit his lip, not wanting to receive a bullet through his skull.

Schlatt chuckled again, pressing forward lightly, not yet pushing into Quackity, but settling right on the edge, smirking to himself as he watched Quackity tense up.

Quackity opened his mouth to say something, regardless of the gun still held in Schlatt's hand, but was _again_ cut off. Schlatt pushed forward quickly, sinking himself halfway into Quackity without an ounce of preparation or lube. The only lubrication even slightly there to ease the process was Quackity's saliva, still shining on Schlatt's cock. Even that, though, wasn't enough to dull the pain, and Quackity cried out, his nails digging into the wooden desk.

Schlatt, using his free hand, gathered both of Quackity's wrists, bringing them behind his back for better leverage. He slowly pushed himself further inside, relishing in the way Quackity was digging his nails into his palms, tears still trailing down his rosy cheeks, flushed from exertion and embarrassment.

Schlatt grunted as he bottomed out, now fully pushed fully inside of Quackity. Quackity's mouth had fallen open, his eyes half-lidded and clouded with tears. He looked like a wreck, and Schlatt felt a rush of pride that it was _his_ fault that the shorter boy was so ruined because of him. _He_ got to see Quackity like this, and no one else.

He, however much of an ass he may be, actually stopped for a moment, letting Quackity adjust. He wasn't _that_ much of a dick.

But, at the same time, he wasn't sympathetic enough to stay like that for long. Once Quackity's pained whimpers faded, he pulled back out halfway, before slamming back in. This drew a choked moan from Quackity, and a low grunt from Schlatt.

Slowly, Schlatt began to rock himself in and out, his pace picking up with every thrust. Quackity was still a mess below him, moaning brokenly with drool dripping from his open mouth, his eyes still rolled back.

Quackity's head was thrown back, his mind blank and his body on fire. Pain was stinging through him, along with a deep pleasure. The two sensations mixed together in a euphoric mess. Somehow, Schlatt always managed to hit every button in Quackity, messing with his emotions and at the same time always drawing him back in. He was an expert at this, and Quackity could never break away from him.

Schlatt's pace was now relentless as he thrusted continuously into Quackity. The pain was ebbing now, but still unmistakably there. Quackity's moans were much louder, drowning out Schlatt's low groans and grunts. Schlatt's pace suddenly halted, and Quackity felt the mouth of a gun meet the back of his head.

" 'Ey slut, shut your damn mouth, or you're gonna alert everyone in Maburg." Schlatt snapped, picking back up on his previous pace, the gun still pressed to Quackity's head.

Quackity tried to be quiet now, muffling himself by biting so hard into his bottom lip he could taste the familiar tangy flavor of blood, spreading out over his tongue.

Each rough thrust from Schlatt was bringing Quackity closer and closer to his climax, that familiar heat pooling and stirring in his stomach, deepening with every thrust.

It wasn't long before Quackity's whimpers began to echo off of the walls again, indicating how close he truly was. Schlatt's pace suddenly slowed, becoming so slight that is was almost painful for Quackity.

He couldn't help but let out a pitiful whine as his edge melted away, leaving him frustrated and helpless, completely under Schlatt's mercy.

"What're you whining for, princess?" Schlatt cooed, leaning down to press his mouth against Quackity's ear, his beard tickling Quackity's neck, "Is this not enough for you?"

Quackity breathed out in response, not even trying to reply. He wasn't about to beg Schlatt for anything, especially not when he was balls deep in his ass.

Schlatt laughed as he began to rock his hips again, nowhere near his previous pace but enough to draw breathless pants from Quackity.

Schlatt suddenly breathed out lowly, his mood clearly shifting. He seemed agitated, and it took Quackity a minute to realize why.

His door, the one that had locked behind Quackity without his realization, was wiggling, someone on the other side clearly trying to get in.

Schlatt, gun still pressed to Quackity's head, hand still pulling on his wrists, and still thrusting without pause, called out.

"Who is it?" he shouted, his voice gruff but not otherwise affected. Quackity, mortified, was now struggling to stay as silent as possible, his entire body tense from the effort. The doorknob quit jiggling, and a muffled voice called back.

"Uh, I wanted to speak to you about something. It's Fundy, Sir." the person called back, now identified as Fundy.

Schlatt rolled his eyes, the speed and amount of his thrusts increasing and becoming erratic. Quackity realized he must've been close to his climax.

"I'm busy, Fundy. Let me finish this paper, 'kay?" he called back, to which he received a quiet 'Okay,' in response.

Schlatt leaned forward, his warm mouth against Quackity's ear once again, his breath hot.

"You'd better shut up now, Vice President. What would he think if he saw you like this, hm? Bent over like a slut, letting me fuck you on my desk." he murmured lowly, his hips still pistoning forward.

Quackity whimpered quietly in response, his previous edge returned now in full. He was so, _so_ close to cumming untouched, his thighs twitching and his head thrown back.

It only took a few more thrusts from Schlatt to completely unravel Quackity. He hit his climax hard, white lights blurring his vision as his mouth fell open in a silent moan. His entire body tensed as he came, and it drew a low groan from Schlatt.

Even as he came (and he had cum _hard_ ), Schlatt was still ramming into Quackity, his pace now erratic and sloppy, but still as rough as before. His cock hit Quackity's prostate every time, sending now-unwanted spikes of pleasure through him, overstimulation making his legs shake.

Ordinarily, Schlatt would've kept at it like this for a long time to come, but with Fundy directly outside of the door, there was no time. So, with a few more particularly hard thrusts, he released deep into Quackity, his mouth against his neck to muffle his low groan. Quackity whimpered again as he fell limp, his legs giving out as he slumped against the desk, completely worn out.

Schlatt pulled out, watching with a small glimmer of pride as cum leaked out of Quackity's ass, dripping onto his pale thighs.

Schlatt picked up Quackity with ease, carrying him bridal-style over to his chair, setting him down on it and tugging his pants up haphazardly. He then crossed over to the door, unlocking it.

Quackity was too exhausted to even care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> criticism and feedback are always appreciated !


	7. Ropes and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author; Styx  
> Ship; Technoblade x Wilbur (Not sure of their ship name)  
> Requested; Yes! They requested to stay anonymous, but I appreciate the request!
> 
> This takes place very shortly after the Festival. Also, blood/injury warning for this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy! : )

As the light bled from the sky, Wilbur only felt his panic increase by tenfold. He was fucked, oh god, he was fucked. Where had the goddamn button been? He would've gone through with it, he really would've, if only he could've found that _fucking_ button!

Oh god, Technoblade was gonna kill him.

He had been relentless in his reminders and little sprinkled hints, never letting Wilbur forget.

Blow up Manburg, that was all he had to do. And he'd somehow fucked it up.

Every step seemed too loud, echoing through the dark, cold forest and muffling itself in the dense undergrowth. Even the thin cover provided by trees and bushes and such couldn't hide him as he walked through the forest, his paranoid gaze struggling to be everywhere at once. Techno could be anywhere, everywhere, nowhere.

Shadows seemed to move in the night, not helping his building anxiety about the whole mess. Every groan of a far-off mob and every rustling leave sent him whirling around, sword held at the ready.

So now here he was, trudging towards Pogtopia, his cloak trailing behind him, torn and ripped. Dirt and blood smeared his face, some of it not his own. He wiped vigorously at the drying flecks of blood, but no matter how much he'd scrape off, he still felt filthy and stained.

He had long since slid his sword back into it's sheath in favor of silence as he walked, disliking the way that it had slowed his pace.

Wilbur felt his heart stop as he stepped into a clearing, the one before a lake, the lake in front of pogtopia.

The reason for his sudden halt? Technoblade.

The tall, robed man was standing at the edge of the clearing, a torch held aloft in his hand, illuminating his face, set in a dead-serious expression. His crossbow was at his side, and despite his lack of emotion, an aura of fury surrounded him.

"Wilbur." he greeted flatly, his voice emotionless by choice, his dark eyes hard.

"Hey, Techno . . ." he replied quietly, his hand already resting on his sword. Just in case.

Technoblade took a step forward, his stride full of purpose. Wilbur heard his cape slithering over the ground with a gentle hiss of silk on dead leaves.

"So," he began, his voice still flat, "The Festival."

Technoblade asked nothing else, the simple mention of the event enough to provoke a reaction. He placed the torch down, sticking it into the ground to keep it upright.

"Yeah," answered Wilbur slowly, searching frantically for an excuse, "it - uh, it was a festival alright."

Technoblade stepped ever closer. The distance between them couldn't have been more than three feet, charged with tension.

"Did you forget something, Wilbur?"

Wilbur shook his head, his words coming out in a frantic jumble in his haste to spill them,

"No, no no no, it was just the timing was never right, and I would've killed Tubbo, and Tommy didn't want Manburg ruined anyway, and I looked for the button, but I couldn't find it, and -,"

Technoblade now closed the gap between them, pressing forward on Wilbur until his back hit a tree at the edge of the clearing.

"Would've killed Tubbo?" he snarled, "Wilbur, I _did!_ I looked him in his damn eyes and shot him, and you couldn't press a button?" his voice had lost it's flatness, and was now heightened in his rage.

"It wasn't the right time, we can still take it back - !"

Techno grabbed his neck, shoving him against the tree, his face now inches from Wilbur's.

"We've planned this for weeks, Wil. _Weeks._ " he hissed, "History's only going to repeat itself, and you'll become the same damn tyrant Schlatt is."

"We'll never win, Wilbur. Can't you see that? Can't any of you?" his voice had run high now, the intensity of his words struggling to make themselves heard.

Wilbur shook his head, not wanting to believe the pinkette.

"No, that's not right, we've fought so hard, we can't back down now."

Techno's eyes blazed.

"Then why did you?"

Wilbur fell silent. He was right, of course. He'd backed down from pressing the button, given up and gone back to help Tommy.

He only shook his head weakly. He had no refute to that, did he?

Techno's hand went under his cape, grabbing something attached to his waistband. As he pulled it out from under the flowing red cape, Wilbur could see it clearly, even in the dim lighting.

Rope. A thick, neatly coiled band of it.

Wilbur paled, his eyes widening.

"Techno - why do you have r -,"

Techno looked back at him, his gaze penetrating Wilbur through and through.

"I think you deserve a punishment, do you not agree?" his voice was dangerous, almost daring Wilbur to contradict him and see where that got him.

Wilbur could only shrug weakly.

Techno hummed as he also withdrew a knife from his waistband. Wilbur recognized the unsettling draw of cold metal on worn leather.

The knife was stained with dark splotches already, ones that had yet to be washed clean or were never meant to be washed off.

Blood. Human or animal, Wilbur didn't have a hard time guessing.

Techno used the stained knife to cut off long strips of rope, each easily the length of Wilbur's body, if not more. The knife sliced through the thick rope with ease, in such a way that Wilbur felt chills wrack his body with every smooth cut.

The whole time he was cutting these lengths of rope, trying some together intricately, he was pressed against Wilbur, keeping him in place.

After cutting several pieces from the bundle, Techno tossed the coil of rope to the side, letting it fall noisily onto a bed of leaves. He then held the knife between his teeth carefully as he worked with the lengths of rope in his hands, some slung over his shoulder to hold them. His long, slim fingers worked in a blur, tying and knotting the rope with ease. Wilbur was silent the whole time, trying not to wonder too greatly what Techno's full plan with the rope was.

After a while, Techno seemed satisfied with the now random pile of oddly knotted rope he had, three pieces still thrown onto his shoulder. He backed up from Wilbur slightly, tapping his boot on the floor.

"Kneel." he demanded.

Wilbur wasted no time in obeying, trying in vain to muffle the crunch of leaves below him as he settled in them. Techno chuckled to himself as he continued messing about with the rope.

Wilbur could only watch him, his hands rested on his thighs as he knelt before Technoblade.

After a few more moments of confusing tying and twisting the rope, Techno crouched in front of him, grabbing the knife from between his teeth and setting it beside himself on the leaves. He also set the small tangle of rope on his shoulder with the three untied pieces, his hands and mouth now free.

"Shirt." Techno said bluntly, his elbows rested on his knees.

"What - ?" Wilbur muttered, mostly to himself. What a descriptive instruction, fuckin' 'shirt'.

"Take off your shirt. Cloak, too, I guess." Technoblade reiterated, to which Wilbur took pause.

"You want me to . . . Take my shirt off?" he parroted, wishing that Techno would laugh and lean back, say it's all been a wonderful joke, and they could go home so that he wouldn't have to face this embarrassment.

Techno nodded, "Quickly, too, or I'll cut them off of you. And I wouldn't care if I got some skin, too. This knife's awfully sharp and I'm not very careful with it."

So, with humiliation weighing on his limbs, Wilbur very slowly unbuttoned the neck button of his cloak, shedding it and tossing it over by the rope. He paused, looking down at his button-up shirt. Removing it would be crossing a boundary, breaking lines that he'd never even toed before.

Techno sighed at him, grabbing the knife and without hesitation, pulling it down from the base of Wilbur's throat, all the way to his navel. His knife cut cleanly through the shirt, leaving a thin yet bloody scratch in Wilbur's pale chest as the shirt fell off, exposing him far more than he'd like to have been.

Techno now hummed delightedly, reveling in the pain hiss from Wilbur as he assessed the damage to his chest. It'd probably leave a small scar, something so light you'd probably hardly notice it. Blood trickled very slowly from it, collecting in a thin droplet that traced it's way down to his pants.

Techno gestured to his waistband, smirking slightly,

"Wouldn't wanna stain those with blood, would you? Should probably take them off, hm?"

Wilbur shook his head, his arms erupting in gooseflesh as embarrassment flooded him.

"I don't mind, it'll wash." he answered, his voice shaky but tone strong.

Techno shrugged, holding the freshly stained knife between his teeth again as he grabbed one of the individual lengths of rope from his shoulder. He motioned for Wilbur to hold his hands out, to which Wilbur complied, holding them out side by side, palms facing downwards.

Without skipping a beat, Techno looped the rope thrice around Wilbur's wrists, tying it off tightly. The bristly rope scratched his wrists, but the sensation wasn't yet unbearable. It still sent a spike of dread through him at the thought that Technoblade now had nearly full control over him, and still two more ropes - not counting the tangled jumble of rope.

"Wilbur, stay still." Techno mumbled, grabbing the second rope as he attempted to speak through the blade.

Wilbur complied, but felt chills encompass him when Techno began to tie a slipknot.

If you don't know what a slipknot is, it's a simple knot that surrounds something, and when pulled on, it'll tighten around said something. It's similar to a noose, but when it's pulled completely through, it'll untie itself, and it's much weaker and simpler to tie than a noose. You can loosen and tighten it with ease, and conveniently, it could probably act as a sort of leash.

((no you cannot hang yourself with a slipknot. don't try))

So, you could imagine Wilbur's dread when Techno began tying one, and was glancing up at him occasionally with the same sort of look in his eyes that you'd see in a hawk's before it dove down to snatch a rabbit.

In a few moments, the slipknot was finished. Techno loosened it easily, sliding the knot towards himself to open the loop, before sliding it over Wilbur's head.

"If it chokes you," Techno said, "say something. You won't be able to walk for a few days after tonight, but you won't be dead."

Wilbur gave a small nod, biting his bottom lip as he felt Techno tug on the non-tied end of the rope, tightening it. Techno reached forward, sliding his forefinger between Wilbur's neck and the rope, testing how tight it was. After pulling on it a bit, he tightened it just a bit more, sliding his finger out.

Techno leaned back a bit, studying Wilbur, kneeling in front of him, a rope around his neck and hands.

Wilbur; his.

As Techno reached for the third rope, he spoke again,

"You're awfully quiet."

Oh, was he now?

Wilbur was quiet because he was fighting a loosing battle against himself. He was trying so, _so_ hard to not get turned on by this, it was almost painful. He'd never been tied up like this before, and his mind was foggy at the clear new kink. He was praying internally that Techno wouldn't notice his bulge he was struggling so hard to repress.

"Mhm." was his only answer as he tested the strength of the rope around his wrists. No matter how hard he tugged, the rope didn't even shift.

Techno shrugged as he grabbed the knife once more, holding the point carelessly towards Wilbur.

"I would tell you to take off your pants, but I doubt you could. This might hurt, but I'm missing the part if me that would give a fuck." Techno informed him bluntly, moving the end of the blade towards Wilbur's waistband.

Well, that was straightforward.

The knife dug delicately into Wilbur's waist as Technoblade cut his pants off, along with his boxers. He kept moving downwards, his knife leaving the same sort of thin, gently trickling scratch on Wilbur's waist, then thigh, then leg as his pants fell off, into the leaves.

Techno breathed out lowly at the sight of the bright red blood trickling gently down Wilbur's pale thighs. Wilbur whined against his will at the tingle of pain, the sharp cut worth it just for Techno's expression.

His cock was now free to the air, exposed by the lack of boxers or pants, and Techno's eyes were crinkled in a smirk as he raised his eyebrows at Wilbur.

"Excited, Soot?"

Wil breathed out, "Fuck you Techno."

"Well, that was the plan."

Techno grinned to himself as he grabbed the third and final untied rope, gesturing for Wilbur to bring his legs forward.

With a glint in his dark eyes, Techno looped the rope easily around his ankles, tying them in the same way he'd tied his wrists.

Wilbur's eyes widened,

"Techno, I can't move -,"

"This is a punishment, Soot. I'd recommend you stop talking."

"Yes sir." he muttered.

Techno smirked to himself as he finished the knot off, now turning his attention to his ominous bundle of rope.

"Wil, lay. Knees up, ass in the air, hands behind your back." Techno demanded, holding the rope by one of the free ends.

Wilbur blinked at him.

"No."

Techno's gaze snapped up to him, dark eyes blazing.

"Wilbur." he said, his voice flat but encouragement enough, considering he was still holding a knife.

Wilbur painstakingly maneuvered himself as Technoblade had instructed, cringing at how exposed he felt. He could still feel the blood on his chest and thigh, the sharp sting of the knife now a dull ache. The woods whispered around them, the few leaves still on the trees rustling as if they were birds perched on those branches, barely holding on.

Techno let a smirk gather on his face as he carefully traced his knife down Wilbur's spine, delight sparking low in his stomach when a thin line of blood followed the tip of his blade.

"Techno -," Wilbur breathed, chills shooting down his spine.

"Jesus, you talk an awful lot. Should've brought a fuckin' gag, my god." Techno muttered to himself as he began tying on end of his tangle to the tie around the loop on his neck, attaching it at the base. Then, he began tying the rope around Wilbur's body, the rope twisting skillfully around his pale frame.

The rope connected all of the ties binding Wilbur, truly keeping him in one place. Though the knotted ropes were laced all over Wil, it still left plenty of open skin for Techno to leave his mark on. He began loosening and tightening the rope accordingly, relishing in the way Wilbur's breathing had picked up significantly and how he was physically restraining himself from bucking his hips forward.

Techno pulled back for a moment now, silence falling over the clearing. Wilbur shifted uncomfortably, the silence unnerving. He couldn't help but wonder what Techno was doing. He couldn't even hear the leaves crunching beneath the taller's boots.

After a while longer, Wilbur spoke up.

"Techno . . ?" he questioned, his voice somewhat quiet and untrusting, honestly not expecting an answer.

He got silence in response. His head moved to look over the shoulder, but with all of the restricting ties, he couldn't. Wilbur was struggling against himself to call out for the pinkette, his cock painfully hard and completely neglected.

Just as Wilbur began to think he'd been abandoned for the wolves, he felt a ghost of a touch, scarred hands tracing themselves lightly down his back and to his sides. Long, deft fingers traced small circles into his sides, and he choked on a gasp, struggling to contain both a gasp and a groan of pleasure, to which Techno chuckled at.

"Desperate, are we, slut?" he asked, his words demeaning and hot as fuck.

" _Please_ ," Wilbur exhaled, "please, oh my god."

Wilbur couldn't see Techno's face, but he was sure that the pinkette was smiling, that same smug smile he'd given him just moments earlier.

"Don't worry." he replied simply, which did nothing to ease any of Wilbur's worries, and only tugged a whine from him.

Wilbur groaned, feeling Techno's hands creeping lower, splaying out over his waist. God, the fucker was good at it too, his touches just enough to hardly satiate Wilbur, but not nearly enough. They were just light enough that they sent chills throughout him every time, but not heavy enough to be dragging.

As Techno's hands slid down his thighs, his thumbs began to massage small circles into the inner, more sensitive part of Wilbur's thighs, causing him to tense up and shudder.

Wilbur was now losing his internal battle, desperation making him reckless.

"Techno, please, please - do something, please, touch me, fuck me, I don't know, just _please._ " he begged, to which he heard Techno chuckle.

"Alright then, you asked for this." replied Techno.

And, just like that, he felt Technoblade push a finger into him, sinking knuckle-deep without any lube.

Wilbur groaned against the ground, the sensation incredibly strange but not yet painful. Techno, never one to waste time, was already pushing his finger in and out, searching for Wilbur's prostate. He paused when he crooked his finger, hearing Wilbur cry out in pleasure rather than pain.

"Found it." he grinned, mirth bubbling through his words. Wilbur whined in response.

Already, Techno was adding another finger, scissoring both of his fingers as he continued to hit Wilbur's prostate with every shove of his slender fingers. Wilbur was now holding back moans and low whines, his embarrassment enough to hold him back.

Techno paused for a moment, his other hand reaching for his knife and bringing it to the soft skin on Wilbur's thighs.

"I want to hear you, whore. I want everyone to know that you're a dirty little slut, bent over in the middle of the woods, hard as fuck." he snapped, the knife digging in. Wilbur yelped as he felt blood once again start to drip down.

"Okay, okay, okay, I will!" he replied quickly, and Techno drew his knife back, his thumb swiping over the blood, smearing it and collecting some on his finger.

He was quiet for a moment, thinking. This drew a confused huff from Wilbur, earning him another harsh shove of Techno's fingers.

Techno seemed to figure out whatever it was that he'd been thinking about, and now returned to stretching Wilbur, and at the same time shoving repeatedly into his prostate, hitting it head-on each time. He added yet another digit, drawing a pained groan from Wilbur that mixed perfectly with his moans and whines, which he wasn't even attempting to hide anymore.

After a while of preparation and degradation from Techno, Wilbur was prepped 'enough'. His fingers slid out, leaving Wilbur empty, and he bit back a discontented whimper.

He felt the cold bite of Techno's knife against the back of his thigh again, poised lightly. He choked on his own spit as Technblade quickly drew the knife across his leg, splitting the skin and immediately spilling the dark blood below. Techno groaned at the sight, his thumb already sliding through the mess.

Ropes and blood. What a duo.

Wilbur was holding back a hiss of pain, the feeling of his own blood spilling down his thighs hot beyond words but also painful as hell. The cut wasn't deep, but it stretched the entire length of the back of his thigh, and it had been made by a wickedly sharp blade.

He felt Techno's hand splay through the sheen of blood, covering the calloused skin in the slippery, metallic liquid. He pulled back, and when Wilbur felt something distinctly wet press at his entrance, realization clicked.

Techno was using blood - _Wilbur's_ blood - as lube. Blood for the blood god, he guessed.

Techno then sank halfway into Wilbur, a low groan of his drowned out by Wilbur's cry. The preparation had helped, but with the suddenness of Techno pushing inside of him, he felt jolts of pain still shoot through him.

When Technoblade sank further into him, though, he felt a white hot spark of pleasure rip through him, forcing a broken moan from Wilbur, who was already so far gone in pleasure in pain he couldn't speak.

Techno chuckled ruthlessly as he began to move, pulling his hips back slowly before sinking back in with a harsh thrust. Wilbur cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure overwhelming him, like a wave crashing over him, drowning him.

Technoblade kept at this pace for awhile, pulling out slowly before slamming back in with the signature slap of skin-on-skin. Wilbur's stream of noises drowned out his low groans and grunts, bur when he spoke, Wilbur heard him clearly through his own haze.

"Look at you," he laughed, "you're ruined. You're a fuckin' mess, cause of me. Whatdya' think about that, huh Wil? Fucking slut, can't even talk anymore." he chuckled again, letting his hips snap forward to exemplify his words.

Wilbur could feel the pain receding, and instead pleasure washed over him, overwhelming his on it's own. He was a mess, tied up, bleeding, and being railed by Techno. His broken moans echoed throughout the clearing, drawing a smirk from Techno.

Techno began to increase the speed and vigor of his thrusts, starting off somewhat slowly but quickly becoming ruthless as he continuously snapped his hips forward into Wilbur, who was struggling against his ties, trying to pull away from the flood of pleasure.

Reaching down with one hand, Techno grabbed the rope connected to the slipknot around Wilbur's neck, tugging harshly and forcing his back to arch painfully as his head was thrown back. Wilbur made a choked noise, and when his face came into Techno's view, he let out a low moan.

Wilbur's face was flushed red, covered in a light sheen of perspiration. His eyes were rolled back in his pleasure, his mouth fallen open and his tongue lolled out. Spit was slowly falling down his chapped lips, clearly not bothering Wilbur. He looked completely out of it, his only focus the pleasure that was overtaking his body. His thighs were shaking, twitching with every harsh thrust from Techno.

Techno let go of the rope, letting Wilbur fall forward, the image of his fucked out face still in his head.

"You're such a whore, Wilbur," Techno snarled, "I never knew. You're my little slut, my bitch. I'm gonna ruin you, everyone will know that you're mine." he added, his voice rough and husky.

"You hear that?" he snapped, his hips slamming forward again, " _Mine._ "

Wilbur groaned, before his moans continued to fall from his open mouth, his eyelid fluttering. Techno could see how close he was to his edge, even without any attention to his straining cock. Techno grinned cockily.

"You gonna cum on my cock, Wil? Is that all you needed, hm? You came undone so easily, so desperate." he whispered, and it seemed that Wilbur registered at least some of what he'd said. He tightened around Techno's dick with a sluttish cry, and he threw his head back as he came, his body convulsing. Techno grabbed his restrained wrists, yanking back harshly on the bonds, forcing his face up again.

He was completely wrecked, his face a clear reflection of how ruined his body was, still shaking as he rode out his orgasm. Techno didn't slow, though, his pace continuing roughly and drawing another, more desperate shout from Wilbur. He choked on his words, a jumbled cry of ' _Too much!_ '

Techno only laughed again as his thrusts became somewhat sloppy. He was so close to his own release, there was no way he'd stop now even though he would've loved to stay there and overstimulate Wilbur for hours upon end, watching him sob and shake.

So with a few more hard thrusts, he leaned down and brought his mouth to Wilbur's shoulder, sinking his teeth in and groaning into the skin there to muffle himself. He buried himself deep inside of Wilbur as he came, feeling the slightly shorter of the two clench up again and cry out, his voice cracking and breaking.

They both sat there for awhile, panting and still trying to calm down from their highs. Techno pulled out slowly, watching his seed drip slowly down onto Wilbur's thighs, mixing with the blood there.

Then, he heard it.

Somewhere in the woods to their right, he could hear Tommy calling out, his voice small and nervous in the darkness of the woods.

"Techno! Wil! Oh, where are you guys?"

Wilbur groaned at the sound of his name. "Tommy?" he mumbled.

Techno sighed.

This would be fun to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> criticism and feedback are always welcome and greatly appreciated !


	8. Merry Christmas; It's a Twink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author; Styx  
> Ship; Dreamnotfound
> 
> the title wasn't supposed to be what it is, but Rock thought it was really fuckin funny so here we are
> 
> Enjoy!

Well, now or never, right?

George sighed to himself as he sat on their couch, cross-legged and holding a bundle of silk ribbon. He was fiddling with it nervously, the warm glow from the light-strangled Christmas tree casting a gentle luminosity around the peacefully silent living room. A certain sort of nighttime silence had settled into the house, the only noise of the whistling wind outside, tossing snow about.

It was nearly six in the morning, and George could feel the sunlight edging it's way into the sly, though the curtains were drawn tight. His boyfriend had yet to wake, and he wouldn't for another hour or so. Sure, it was Christmas, but they had nowhere to be that day, besides with each other. So what reason did George have to stall?

Alright, to fill you in, here was the plan;

(Don't laugh, George had been planning this for weeks and it made even him red-cheeked)

He would dress in thigh-high red socks, with lacy white frilling on the ends, a short skirt that didn't cover his ass in the slightest, and a Santa hat to top the whole thing off. Besides that, he was also planning to bind himself in the same red silk ribbon he was holding, hoping to add a small bow in the middle of his chest. Then, sit under the tree and wait.

Hopefully, he wouldn't fuck the whole thing up.

This was the thing, though, George was incredibly shy. Even around Clay, who he's been in a relationship with for _nine_ months. He'd always been especially modest - not for the purpose of it though. He just wasn't entirely comfortable in himself, that was all.

So, it was going to take a fuck ton of confidence to pull this off.

He was already somewhat prepared, with his 'costume' laid out beside him, and a bundle of ribbon held nervously in his hands, where he kept knotting and unknotting it anxiously. George kept reminding himself that Clay would be up soon, and that he'd have to hurry up before the idea went to waste. But every time he told himself this, he only chastised himself and pushed it off further. Now, there was no way he could back out, seeing as he had everything with him.

And so, George stood, grabbing his skirt and thigh-highs. He shook his head in humiliation as he led himself to the bathroom, flicking on the lights and shutting the door softly behind him as he walked in. He slid his hoodie and sweats off, as well as his boxers.

Oh, yeah, had he forgotten to mention he also had a pair of lacy red and white panties?

George slid those on first, his eyebrows raising at the way they actually kind of looked good? Maybe he could pull this off, after all.

He kept that thought in mind as he brought up the red skirt next, actually biting his lip at his reflection in the mirror. He looked - well - _hot._

He had shaved earlier in the night, or, well, morning, and his smooth, pale thighs and round ass were showed off perfectly in this outfit. His pale chest,  
while skinny and bare, was now helping him pull this whole thing off. Now, with an almost excited grin, George slid the socks up his calves, letting them rest on his thighs. They stayed, to his surprise, and when he caught sight of his reflection, he had to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle a gasp.

He felt a giddy sort of excitement bubble up inside of him at the mere thought of Clay's reaction. To think he had been considering abandoning the whole idea was now ridiculous.

He tiptoed out of the bathroom, his socked feet landing quietly on the hardwood floor as he crossed to the carpeted living room and sank onto the floor in front of the tree. George grabbed the ribbon with a small smirk, pulling the end of it until he had enough length to encompass both of his thighs and then some.

He cut this length of ribbon in half, leaving him with two smooth strips of silk, one of which he left on the couch beside him. The other he used to tie around his thigh, the leftover piece left in between his thighs. He used the other in the same way, but this time he used the extra length to join the two pieces together. His thighs were now restricted to the very small gap he'd left between them, wrapped delicately in a glossy strip of ribbon.

He then took another strip of silk, this one longer. George wrapped it carefully around his stomach, leaving, again, a bit dangling at the end. He used this piece to tie the bit between his thighs, attached both the length around his stomach and the lengths around his thighs.

He continued to wrap himself delicately in the ribbon for awhile, both restraining himself and tying himself so intricately that his body was shown off perfectly, his bare chest still mainly left open, along with his collarbone and the main part of his neck. The last strip of ribbon he tied was one that circled his wrists twice before binding them together behind his back. He had also tied a gentle wrap around his mouth and the back of his head, along with one that attached a tie around his neck to the knot around his wrists.

And so he sat, on his knees, wrapped like a present in front of the tree, until Clay would wake up.

[_Clay's POV_]

Clay blinked, a yawn immediately pulling itself from him as he sat up lazily, still half asleep. The first thing he noticed was the empty dent in the bed beside him where George would normally be. The spot was cold, the blankets still thrown back and pillows messily strewn around. Clay knew now that George had been up for awhile, but _why?_

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, still yawning widely as he stood, straightening his t-shirt absentmindedly. A fruitless glance around their shared room told him what he already knew; that George wasn't there.

Clay crossed over to the door, his hand twisting the doorknob and pulling it open carefully. The hallway that led past their bathroom and opened up into the living room was dim, but at the end Clay could see the gentle luminescence that the tree's lights had casted. He walked down the hallway slowly, peeking into the dark bathroom in case George were in there.  
Of course, he wasn't, and Clay kept walking, calling out as he did so.

"George?" he called out softly, his voice scratchy from sleep, "Where are you?"

He know reached the end of the hallway, immediately glancing towards the kitchen, and then a second door, leading to the guest bedroom, which was shut. The kitchen was empty, all of the lights turned off.

"George?" he called again, now turning to the tree. His second call died in his throat as he saw what was under it.

" _Holy fuck -,_ " he breathed, feeling the air quite literally rush forth from his lungs.

George, wearing _thigh-highs_ and a fucking _skirt,_ was kneeled in front of the tree, his head bowed in embarrassment. He was clearly blushing, though he refused to look up. His entire body was crisscrossed with ribbon, intricate ties spiderwebbing over his chest and bare thighs, restricting his movements. His hands were mouth and his lips were hidden behind another strip of ribbon. He looked so innocent yet so fucking _hot._ Clay could see how tense he was, and felt his heart skip a beat at the thought that George did this for him.

Clay stepped forward carefully, his heart racing, "Shit, George, oh my god," he murmured quietly, unsure of what to really say.

George looked up slowly through his eyelashes, his brown eyes wide and innocent, like he was just begging for his. His soft cheeks were tinged a rosy pink in his embarrassment, but Clay swears that he's never seen George look so _hot._ His boyfriend was usually shy and recluse, but right now he looked totally different.

George mumbled something against the ribbon, the words too quiet to be heard clearly. Clay breathed out lowly as he stepped forward again, crouching in front of George. One of his hands went to the ribbon on his boyfriend's chest, his long fingers sliding softly down the silk, drawing a whine from George. The poor boy had been so patient, waiting under the tree all for Clay, all tied up and needy.

Clay tugged gently on the ribbon, shocked to find just how tight it was. The ribbon was pulled so taught that Clay could hardly slide his finger between the ribbon and George's chest. He retracted his hand, earning a huff from George. He smirked to himself, resting his elbows on his knees.

"So needy. Poor baby, been tied up under the tree, all for me?" he cooed, to which George nodded quickly, despite his embarrassment.

"You think you can wait a bit longer, baby boy?" Clay murmured as he continued to run his hand over the map of silk surrounding George. George nodded frantically, willing to do anything just to earn Clay's touch.

Clay grinned as he straightened up, one hand hooking itself under the tie around George's neck. George brought himself up as far as possible without sitting up to avoid being choked as Clay began to slide down the hem of his sweatpants. George whined against his makeshift gag, straining on his wrist ties. As Clay pulled down his boxers as well, he saw George's glossy eyes widen.

The two had messed around before, obviously. Nothing too crazy, always careful of each other and limits that had discussed awhile ago. Now, though, they had crossed over a line both of them had been too scared to previously even border, and it was completely new territory for them both.

Hopefully Clay won't fuck this up.

Clay used his thumb to gently tug down the tie around George's mouth, humming at the sight of his cherry-red lips and the better view of his completely flushed cheeks.

He then let go of George, the only point of contact between them now was his hand resting gently on George's head, ready to grab a fistful of the brown locks if need be. George glanced up at him through his eyelashes once more, before his tongue darted out to tease at the head of Clay's cock. He was very shy to begin, gently tonguing at the tip of Clay's dick, but with every low groan he drew from the taller, he seemed to grow in his confidence, taking the tip into his mouth gently.

George continued to swirl his tongue around the head, humming nicely whenever Clay wound groan lowly. He slowly began to take more of Clay into his mouth, causing Clay's eyes to roll back at the pleasure. Clay could feel George's tongue, still working at the underside of his cock as his dick slid further into his mouth. It wasn't long before the tip of his dick hit the back of George's throat, causing the shorter to gag underneath him. Clay pressed deeper for only a moment, before pulling out a bit to let George's throat relax. George whined underneath him again, drawing a laugh from the taller.

"Oh, did you want me to throat fuck you?" he teased,  
to which George groaned around his cock, a clear yes. Clay smirked, letting his fingers slide into George's hair, fisting his hand into the brunette locks.

"You're such a little slut for me, aren't you?" Clay murmured as he slid his cock deeper, drawing a mix of a gag and a moan from George.

"That's right. _My_ slut. No one else gets to see you like this baby boy. You're such a whore for me, tied up, wearing a skirt. You wanted me to get all riled up, didn't you? Hm?" Clay asked as he slowly slid even deeper, feeing George's throat constrict around him instinctively. He huffed out at the pleasure, struggling to keep his voice even.

"You wanted this to happen, hm, Georgie?" he smirked to himself at the nickname, and the muffled whine it drew from the brunette, "I think you did. Did you want me to fuck your throat? You're so cute like this. All needy," he smiled as he tugged harshly on George's hair, "all whiney. You're so desperate for me."

George was a mess now, his hair tousled and messy from Clay's hand, his face a flushed mess, and a clear bulge that his short skirt did nothing to hide. His desperate whines were muffled largely by Clay's cock, but still like music to the taller's ears. He smirked to himself as he pulled slowly out of George's throat, before immediately thrusting back in. George gagged, his eyes rolling back as his throat convulsed. Clay smirked again, tugging on George's hair.

"What was that, George? I thought you wanted this, no? Weren't you the one who was all tied up for me like a whore?"

George made a noise of agreement that was barely able to be made out as coherent. He was clearly loving every second of this, despite his initial embarrassment.

Clay chuckled ruthlessly as he thrusted into George's throat once again. He watched with a bubble of mirth as a bulge appeared in George's throat, a clear outline of his cock. George was gagging and choking, now forcing Clay to pull out so as to not hurt the other.

George coughed, spit dripping down his lips hotly. Clay smirked, wiping at it with his thumb. He know retracted his hand from George's hair, instead using his hand to push back gently on George's chest, lying him flat on his back. George didn't protest, only panting as he tried to get enough air back into his lungs.

Clay now loomed over George, his hands slowly snaking their way up and over his soft, ribbon-strung body. Clay's left hand brought itself up to George's collarbone, ghosting over the skin gently. This drew a gasp from George, and a chuckle from Clay.

"Sensitive, George?" he murmured as he brought his lips closer to George's collarbone. George nodded quickly, whimpering.

"Slut." Clay whispered against the skin before he attached his lips to the area that had made George gasp, gently sucking on the skin. Once a moan lightly fell from George's lips, Clay's attack only increased until he was nipping and biting at the area, his free hand still leaving light touches all over George's body. He was driving George insane, making the shorter whine and moan and buck his hips upward, making himself exactly the slut that Clay had made him out to be.

He slowly began to move lower with his savage nips and bites, trailing his mouth down George's body, leaving marks on every open patch of skin he could find. George's body was a canvas of purples and darkening reds, splotches that would fade over time but be a bitch to hide. He kept going even as he reached George's waistline, leaving a stripe of marks there. George was an absolute mess, moaning and whimpering, completely unraveling under Clay's touch.

Clay slowly lifted up George's skirt, huffing in surprise as he did.

"Panties?" he laughed, his hand sliding up and down the inside of George's thigh teasingly. George only moaned breathily, diverting his gaze.

Clay didn't argue as he slowly slid the lacy fabric down, leaving both the skirt and the thigh-highs alone. He decided he rather liked the look of those on George, and he'd use that to his advantage.

"George?" Clay spoke suddenly, his hands slowly tracing themselves all over the inside of his thighs and over his waist.

"Clay?" he murmured in response, his voice scratchy and completely ruined.

"Can you turn over for me? On your knees, with your ass in the air?" he replied, getting a quiet 'Okay' in response. George slowly maneuvered himself into the position that Clay had ordered, the skirt exposing his ass completely. Clay grinned as his hands now lightly pressed themselves under his skirt, cupping his ass and gently roaming. He pulled on hand back for a moment, not quite catching George's attention.

Then, he decided that it'd be a good time to shove two fingers, without warning, into George's ass.

Luckily, he had been covering his fingers in his own spit when he'd pulled them back, and George had already been prepped before, but still. George gasped, which instantly mingled with a moan as Clay curled his fingers gently.

He made quick work of preparation, not that it was even necessary. Then, he spit onto his hand and lubed his cock up with it, pressing himself against George.

"You ready baby boy?" Clay murmured as he bent down over George, his mouth to his ear. All he got in response was a breathy moan, which he assumed was a yes.

And with that, Clay shoved himself fully inside in one thrust, not sparing any time. George's back arched painfully against the restraining ribbon as he cried out, his voice broken already. Clay smirked at the fact that he probably wouldn't be able to talk for awhile after this. He began to shallowly thrust while still buried inside of George, huffing at the tight heat around him.

If George was already a mess before this, he was completely ruined now. His face was completely flushed, his hair a mess, a light sheen of sweat covering his entire body. His skirt was pulled up a bit and his tongue was lolled out as Clay slowly pulled out, before thrusting back in sharply, spearing George's prostate head on. George couldn't even attempt to speak as Clay continued to snap his hips forward, railing the shit out of him.

Clay continued to slam his hips forward repeatedly, relishing in George's broken whimpers and nearly silent moans that struggled to fall from his throat. Poor George, he was a mess, and all because of Clay too.

It didn't take Clay long to fall into that routine of repeatedly pounding into George, the slapping of skin on skin and George's moans filling the house. He could've sworn there was a bulge visible through George's stomach every time he thrusted back into his boyfriend, but he didn't dare slow his pace to check. He wanted to make sure George wouldn't walk tomorrow, as well as the rest of today. It was that motivation that kept his hips consistently snapping forward, slamming continuously into George's prostate, probably ruining the poor boy. Speaking of which, George was now wriggling wildly, his mouth fallen open in a permanent 'o' shape. His body was convulsing lightly, all signaling he was close to cumming. Only encouraged by this, Clay gave a few more particularly harsh thrusts into the shorter, feeling his own climax building quickly.

George cried out whorishly as he tightened around Clay's cock, cumming hard. His climax must've hit him hard, as he now fell forward into his arms, his knees barely managing to hold themselves up with the help of Clay's hands on his hips.

As George tightened around him, Clay felt his climax build incredibly quickly. So, with a couple more thrusts, Clay buried himself deep inside of George and came, filling the poor, overstimulated boy with his seed.

They both stayed like that for awhile, Clay bent over George as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Merry Christmas George." he mumbled into George's back.

"M'ry Chritmas." George slurred exhaustedly in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so rushed and bad ahaaansj this isnt proofread or edited at all
> 
> criticism and feedback are appreciated !


	9. Kiss me and I'll Kill you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship; Dreamnoblade  
> Author; Both of us kinda - ?
> 
> This was actually entirely Rock's idea, and most of this story was quoted directly from him, so that's why we're both authors here, since it was mainly him but he can't access Wattpad at the moment. This is based off of Sway by Michael Bublé.
> 
> Enjoy!

Have you ever worn a dress - as a cis male - to masquerade as a female ball attendee for a mission that could very well end your life if not done properly? Oh, and also, have you done all of these things while working with a lifetime enemy, who you have to conveniently dance with to convince everyone you're supposed to be there?

No? You haven't? Wonderful, it was Dream's first time as well.

The ballroom was a large, elegant beast of a room. It easily held over 500 guests, and with servants to spare. There were large columns along the walls, four on each side, all parallel to one another. Dream could see a large staircase at the entrance, where he and Technoblade would have to walk down for their dramatic entrance. Currently, he was observing the ballroom from a window in the house, which was honestly more of a mansion. He was wearing a long, thin dress and a white, lace-fringed mask to cover the area around his eyes and the bridge of his nose. His hair, normally medium-length and held back in a man bun, was styled beautifully into curls around his face, and it looked perfectly feminine.

Techno should've been in his position instead, though. His long, smooth, pink hair that he swept back into a messy ponytail for most occasions would've suited any sort of lady-like style, but instead it was Dream in this situation, wearing a fucking dress.

His green eyes were a blur of movement as he struggled to pinpoint their target amid the crowd of people. The man he was looking for was none other than Schlatt, but it didn't matter who he was if Dream couldn't find him. It was his job to find Schlatt and keep an eye on the drunkard until they could strike.

Speaking of striking, Dream was still mentally running over their plan. Techno would come to lead him downstairs, to the ballroom, and their entrance to the party would be the beginning of the dancing. Sure, people were already spinning their lovers casually as they chatted, but once Dream and Techno entered, the true event of the evening would begin. After they made their overdramatized entrance, the dance would begin. And guess who the center of attention would be?

If you guessed Dream and Technoblade, congratulations. Dream bad long ago decided he'd have rathered to tear his own nails from their beds than dance with that pink haired fucker.

Some time after the dancing, they were supposed to somehow get Schlatt on his own. After that, kill the bitch and get the fuck out of there.

Ah, and here was the man of the hour. Technoblade.

Dream felt a rough hand on his shoulder, a warm weight pressed against his back.

"Hey, doll. You ready?" a voice asked, uncharacteristically sweet and dripping with a love-sick honey that made Dream want to retch.

He turned around with a winning smile plastered onto his face. Techno was standing there in a crisp black suit and tie, his hair tied back. Instead of a simple mask, Technoblade was wearing a pig skull as a mask, the jaw missing so that the bottom half of his face was visible. A few other people were behind Techno, clearly waiting for the pair of them.

"Of course, love," Dream replied sweetly, forcibly pitching his voice so that he sounded somewhat feminine, "is this our cue?"

He saw Techno's lips twitch as he fought down a smile, and Dream forced himself not to beat the shit out of the pinkette there and then.

"It's that time." Techno confirmed, offering a hand out to Dream. Dream took it delicately, exceedingly grateful for the long, white gloves covering his hands and forearms. Techno's hand was warm against his own unnaturally cold one, and Dream struggled not to pull away.

God, he hated this pig skull-wearing, pink haired, cocky, lanky ass motherfucker.

He contained his contempt, though, and let Techno lead him away as he followed, trying to walk as carefully and lightly as possible. Techno squeezed his hand, almost like he was trying to reassure Dream that this would all be fine. Dream dug his blunted nails into the back of Techno's hand in response. Techno winced as he tugged his hand back a bit, though not enough to break the contact.

Dream heard his heels clicking sharply off of the glossy floor. He tried not to wrinkle his nose in annoyance.

Then, after walking through the winding, far too tall hallways, they reached a set of elegantly carved, also far too tall doors. They were wooden, engraved with complicated carvings that Dream could've studied for hours. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to do much more, as the doors were now being opened from the inside, presumably by a server.

Techno tugged him closer so that they were standing side by side. Dream straightened, trying to arrange his face into a charming yet somewhat pretty smile.

Why was he agreeing to do this, again? This was fucking stupid.

But then the doors were swung open fully, and the attention of the entire ballroom was on them. Dream squeezed Techno's hand out of pure anxiety, relieved to find that Techno tightened his own fingers in response.

The two enemies were joined together by their hands, hating each other and needing each other at the same time.

Techno turned his head towards Dream a little, his mouth hardly moving as he spoke.

"Don't fuck this up." he muttered, already walking forward. Dream followed, letting out an airy laugh to hide his words.

"I could say the same to you." he replied, his smile concealing his words from the room. Techno only yanked on his arm to pull him forward, and Dream had to scramble forward so as to not fall.

He stood on his tip-toes as if to whisper sweetly into Techno's ear. His words, however, were laced with venom and that same underlying hatred he'd always kept for Techno.

"Quit fucking tugging me, or I'll bash your goddamn skull in." he whispered, pulling back with a smile. Techno laughed in return, and Dream wasn't sure whether it was to play along or his genuine amusement.

But now they'd reached the top of the stairs, and they had to pull away from one another to walk down them. Techno and Dream walked side by side, smiling all the while. Applause was flooding the room at their arrival, cheers of excitement sweeping through everyone.

You couldn't even tell how badly Dream wanted to kill Technoblade.

Dream's dress fanned out behind him, flowing down the stairs behind him elegantly. Techno was holding his gloved hand all the while as they made their way down the stairs, and Dream didn't know wether he was grateful for the upholding of the act or pissed he even had to look at Techno.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they were greeted by a set of servers, one of which informed them that they'd be taking the main spot during the dance, a fact they already knew.

The dance, which was conveniently taking place as soon as they took their spots.

Techno grinned back at him, his eyes shining with mischief as he pulled Dream towards him, bringing them chest to chest as his mouth hovered over his ear.

"Let's dance, shall we?" he whispered, his voice low and kind of hot -

_What the fuck?_

Nope, Dream decided. Nope, nope, nope.

"After you." he murmured back.

The ballroom floor was now cleared in the middle, with people in pairs surrounding the spotlight. _Their_ spotlight. Dream and Techno's spotlight.

Techno broke away from Dream with an apologetic smile tossed over his shoulder. Dream mock frowned in response, although he knew that this was their already prepared dance routine.

So, they took their places opposite of one another on the floor, the crowd parting to let them both through. They were standing several feet away from one another, staring at one another. Dream smiled at him as the music began to fade in.

_When Marimba rhythms start to play, dance with me, make me sway. . ._

Here we go.

Dream and Techno slowly began to approach one another from opposite sides of the floor. They were eyeing one another as the distance between them decreased slowly, each feeling that broiling sense of anxiety, that pressure to get this right.

Now, the distance between them was so small that if either were to take another step they'd be pressed together. Techno extended his hand, bowing slightly.

"A dance, m'lady?" he asked, his voice smooth and a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Of course." Dream replied, trying not to let his annoyance influence his expression.

'M'lady', what a fucking joke.

Dream took his hand, letting Techno pull him closer, their chests flush to one another now. Techno had the slightest advantage in height, which he was now using to smirk down at Dream. A certain sort of amused light was swirling in his eyes, which only hardened Dream's expression.

They slowly twirled together, letting the gentle rhythm of the song lull their gentle rock. Dream knew the most complicated part of their dance was yet to come, though.

He really hoped he wouldn't break an ankle in these heels.

Then, Techno pulled back a bit, holding Dream at almost an arm's length. Dream inhaled quietly, and he felt a soft, attemptingly reassuring squeeze from Techno as he released one of his hands.

This is it. Don't fuck this up, Dream.

Then, he was swirling away from Techno, their hands breaking apart from one another as they circled each other in a swirl of complicated movement. Dream felt a hint of acknowledgement at the familiar steps, ones he'd had to practice for weeks prior. Techno appeared more at ease as well as they fell into their rhythm.

Then, Techno was grabbing his arm again, holding it above his head and sending him spinning on one foot, his dress flying out around him. He heard the appreciative laughter and claps from around the room, and Dream knew they'd only increase with what was to come.

And there it was. The song reached _that_ line, and he stopped spinning as Techno dipped him back into his arms, still holding one hand.

Dream glared up at Techno, keeping his voice quiet as he snarled at the taller of the two.

"Kiss me and I'll kill you." he hissed, his hand tightening threateningly on Techno's.

He only earned a chuckle and another smirk from the pinkette.

"Sorry, sweetheart." he whispered, his voice dripping again with that earlier love-poisoned honey, though this time it felt different. More,, personal, maybe.

And, as the song ended, Techno leaned in to kiss Dream, lifting his pig skull mask as he did.

Dream's gasp of disapproval and shock was muffled by Techno's lips against his. They were surprisingly soft for such a brutal person, and the way his hand cradled Dream's back was uncharacteristically gentle. The crowd around them exploded in cheers and applause, but Dream wasn't even listening. He felt like a wave had crashed over his head, muting his thoughts and drowning everyone else out. All he could feel, think, see was Techno, holding him gently, their lips pressed softly together. Techno took his sweet time as the applause began to fade, the wave receding. He gave a parting nip to Dream's bottom lip as he pulled away, his eyes immediately scanning over Dream's face.

"Techno -," Dream began breathlessly, not even sure of what to say. He was cut off by Techno pressing another, chaste peck to his lips before he reluctantly pulled himself away. Techno pulled his skulk-mask back down as he gave Dream a small smirk.

"Thanks for the dance, doll. I'll meet you by the drinks?" was Techno's reply after as pulled himself away, letting Dream straighten himself before he walked off, his hands stuck casually in his pockets. He continued walking until he disappeared into the crowd, the taste of his lips still lingering on Dream's.

"What the fuck?" Dream mumbled to himself as he began to walk off, letting another pair of dancers take their spot.

"What the fuck?" he mumbled to himself as he slipped through the crowd, his gaze focused downwards as his brain tried to rationalize what had just happened.

"What the fuck?" he mumbled to himself as he slowly made his way to the bar, his gaze searching absently for that familiar pink ponytail.

He walked over the bar alone, his head still spinning as he took a seat, crossing his legs. Dream tried to keep proper posture and a somewhat feminine stance. He had no idea if he was pulling it off or not, but he didn't care.

A bartender slid across the counter to him, polishing a glass as he spoke. A pair of thickly rimmed white goggles rested on his nose, shielding his eyes. He had fluffy, somewhat messy brown hair and he was wearing the same black suit as every other server, but was wearing a blue tie; the same color as the other bartenders.

"Hello, darling. What can I get for you tonight?" he asked sweetly, his voice heavily accented, marking him as British. Dream shook his head, smiling softly.

"Oh, that's fine, thank you. I'm waiting for someone, if you don't mind." he replied, trying to pitch his voice again. The bartender nodded politely as he walked away to serve someone else. Dream sighed internally in relief. The bartender seemed nice enough, clearly someone who actually enjoyed his job and speaking to people as he served them. Dream watched him absently with a small grin as he continued to move around, serving people and smiling all the while. He was kind of short, and he had a naturally kind air around him.

Dream turned as he felt a hand on his back, expecting Techno to be there, that stupid skull mask hiding his face and that _stupid_ smirk on his face.

Instead, he flinched back when he came face to face with someone else, an orange haired man whose eyes and nose were covered by a sort of fox-like mask. He was also wearing a suit, but he had an orange tie to  
match his outfit. He was grinning, and Dream could see his pointed canines.

"Hello. I saw you on the dance floor, you looked amazing." he greeted, his hand still on Dream's shoulder. Dream nodded awkwardly, his back hitting the counter as he tried to scoot back.

Where was Techno when you needed him?

"Thanks, but I'm waiting for someone." he replied nervously, his eyes flickering nervously around, looking for anyone to help him out here.

"Well," the fox-masked stranger replied, "the name's Fund-,"

And that was all his got to say before he was grabbed by the shoulder and yanked around by someone, being ripped away from Dream. Dream exhaled gratefully when he saw Techno directly behind the man, his smirk gone and his once glimmering eyes hard.

"Fuck d'you think you're doing, furry?" Techno snarled, shoving the man back as he stood in front of Dream protectively. The man stumbled back, straightening his slightly skewed mask as he did.

"I'm not a furry, thank you very much." the man replied as he stood up properly, backing off a bit, "And I was saying hello to this young lady here."

Dream cringed internally. At least he was passing, right?

Techno visibly stiffened at this, his shoulders drawing together.

"Well, she's with me. So go ahead and fuck off for me, yeah?" Techno growled in response. Dream had never seen him so defensive, or so angry. He genuinely seemed pissed, and Dream had honestly never felt safer.

Maybe Techno was just a really good actor, playing up the role of a protective lover.

Maybe.

The fox-mask man muttered something under his breath as he turned and stalked off, blending back into the crowd after a few moments. Techno watched him until he was out of their sight, before turning around to face Dream.

"Uh, thanks, I guess - I couldn't find you, and I - I wasn't sure -," Dream began, speaking quickly in his own defense, his voice straining from him forcing it so high.

Techno stopped his sentence by reaching out and grabbing his right wrist, forcing him to his feet. He turned and began walking briskly, leaving Dream no option but to scurry after him, stumbling in his heels. Techno's grip on his wrist was so tight it was painful, and he twisted his arm to try to get him to let go.

"Techno, please, let go - that hurts, ow -," he whined under his breath pleadingly.

Techno glared over his shoulder, his eyes still hard.

"Shut the fuck up, and follow me." he snapped, his grip only tightening as he yanked Dream along. They were walking past the bar, past one of the columns and towards a plain door that Dream hadn't seen when they'd first walked in. He stumbled and almost fell multiple times, only being held up by Techno dragging him away from the ballroom.

When they finally reached the small, plain wooden door, Techno tugged it open before shoving Dream through. It opened into a dim hallway, with lights running along the ceiling that weren't on. At the ends, the hallway curved into another hallway, and the lights from those ends spilled across the red carpet, giving Dream a little visibility.

The door shut eerily softly behind them, Techno was striding forward and shoving Dream back until his back hit the wall. His scarred hand came up, wrapping around Dream's throat as he pinned him against the wall, their faces so close that Dream could've counted the scratches in his pig skull mask.

"What the hell was that, huh?" he hissed, his free hand coming up to shove his mask up over his head, letting it clatter loudly onto the floor.

"What do you -," Dream began, already feeling his face flush at how close they were. Wait, no, that was weird, he wasn't flustered. Not because of Techno, no way.

"You know goddamn well what I mean," Techno snarled, his hand tightening, "letting him touch you? Acting like a slut?"

Acting like a _what?_

"Techno, what the hell are you talking about?" he replied indignantly, his pride rebelling at the very thought, "I'm not a fucking slut, so maybe you should calm the fuck down before I -,"

And then Techno pushed himself forward and connected their lips harshly. For the second time.

This kiss was so unlike the other it nearly gave Dream whiplash. This was was much, much rougher, full of a furious heat that radiated from both of them. Dream felt this fury encourage him, and he could feel the surprise from Techno when he pushed forward in turn. The kiss became a clash of teeth and lips, and Dream felt Techno's teeth connect with his bottom lip multiple times, each drawing a gasp of pain from him. Techno's hand was still on his throat, pressing harshly and keeping him in place.

And, honestly? Dream wasn't complaining.

When Techno finally pulled back to let them both breath, they both gasped in synchrony. Techno's face was still carrying that stupid goddamn smirk, and it was only slightly tinged red, while Dream was sure his own was completely flushed.

Techno chuckled at him demeaningly, his free hand coming up to swipe away a stray strand of hair from Dream's face.

"Look at you," he cooed lowly, "all blushing and red, and all because of me." he murmured, his eyes glazed over with an emotion Dream had never seen from him before. That isn't saying much, though, considering Dream liked to stay as far away from Techno as physically possible.

Dream breathed out as he struggled away from Techno, "We have a mission, Techno, and I -,"

Techno rolled his eyes in return, leaning forward again but this time to press a heated kiss to his jawline. He slowly began trailing this kissed along his jawline, reaching his neck and slowly moving down. Dream's shoulders and collarbone were completely exposed by the dress, and Techno used this fully to his advantage. He made his way across Dream's collarbone, leaving small nips and kisses but not leaving obvious marks.

Dream's gasp of surprise was immediately overridden by his own barely muffled whines and moans. He could feel Techno smiling against his skin, and Dream could already picture that goddamn smirk.

Techno finally retracted when he seemed satisfied, and of course he was still grinning cockily down at Dream.

"Techno, _please_ , we have to -," Dream began again, though halfheartedly. Despite his resistance, he was already half hard.

Techno pressed his hand harder on Dream's throat, effectively cutting his voice off.

"B-b-but T-techno, w-we -," he mocked, sticking out his bottom lip to mock Dream, "Shut up, oh my god." Techno muttered.

Dream glared up at him through his lashes, only earning a chuckle from the pinkette.

"What? Going to protest? You're already hard, _princess."_ Techno smirked. The way he had said princess was obviously meant to be mocking, and it was. Dream felt a blush of mortification spread over his face as he diverted his gaze.

Techno loosened his grip on Dream's neck a bit, bringing his knee up and pressing it lightly against Dream's crotch, earning a hardly held back moan from the blonde.

"See?" Techno smirked, _again,_ "You're moaning like a whore, already hard for me. You're so desperate, aren't you?"

Dream shook his head, still looking away. He was grateful that his mask covered some of his flushed face, but the fact that he was blushing like a fucking idiot was still extremely obvious. When Techno pushed his knee a little harder, Dream couldn't hold back as he bucked his hips forward, gasping at the friction.

Techno laughed, his grin both demeaning and filled with an amused hilarity.

"You gonna get off by humping my thigh, Dream? That desperate, and for me? I thought you hated me." he teased, his eyes narrowed devilishly. You could see the glint of a terrible idea in his eyes, and it was enough to make Dream squirm.

((im sorry for the authors note here but i literally was in the middle of a sentence and i walked away for like three hours for no goddamn reason and then i got bored and i was like 'oh i should work on this' and came back to it wtf))

Techno only rolled his leg against Dream, and in response got another breathy moan from the blonde, who was quickly unraveling despite his initial resolute.

"Well? You gonna answer me or would you rather I leave you here on your own, all hard and desperate." Techno asked as he continued to roll his leg far too slowly for Dream's liking.

Dream whined at this, his desperation for this friction overriding any humiliation he'd had.

"Pl- _please,_ Techno - I wanna - I want it - want you so bad -," he breathed. Techno could feel his Adams apple move up and down as he spoke, and again when he swallowed thickly.

Remember that glint in Techno's eyes? The one just glimmering with a horrible idea? Yeah, here it was again, making his eyes flash as he laughed lowly again, bringing his mouth to Dream's ear.

"Think you can do it on your own then?" he murmured, nipping lightly at Dream's earlobe. Dream smothered a gasp at the light bites, shuddering. It took him a moment to register the words that had came from the pinkette, but once he did he felt his flush deepen.

"I - I don't -," he protested weakly, shaking his head in humiliation. He'd accept Techno calling him a whore and all that, but humping his thigh to completion? That was a whole other level of humility that he'd rather not face.

Techno shrugged casually, releasing some of the pressure made by his knee as he pulled back a bit, though his hand stayed on Dream's neck. This stabbed a spike of fear through Dream at the thought of having to finish this whole mission while hiding a hard on. His hips lurched forward again desperately, and the feeling of Techno's knee rolling against his straining cock made him groan as he threw his head back.

Techno huffed in amusement as he pushed himself forward again, pressing the two of them flush to one another again. His knee was once again pressed harshly against the indistinct outline of Dream's cock, though this time he didn't move it, letting Dream decide for himself if he would actually be getting off.

And, Dream, lost in his own building pleasure, caved.

He began slowly rolling his hips against Techno's knee, huffing out with every slow movement. He was slowly loosing his reluctance, and the gentle thrusts of his hips became gradually harder and more purposeful, and he was having an exceedingly difficult time staying quiet. He was whining and moaning with every gentle rock of his own hips, a sparking sense of arousal tingling low in his stomach. He could hear Techno laughing condescendingly in front of him, but he couldn't care any less right then. He was lost in his own pleasure, not at all bothered that the source of said pleasure was someone he'd hated for years.

All the while, Techno's hand was everywhere, demeaning taunts falling venomously from his lips. His hand drifted along Dream's collarbone, his warm touch ghosting lightly along the sensitive skin, only worsening Dream's current, pleasure-lost position. He slid his thumb gently along the curve of Dream's jawline, humming in content. His voice was low and rough as he spoke to Dream, both to keep others from hearing and to keep his words personal.

He was watching Dream completely fall apart, unravelling like a dropped spool of yarn, entirely at Techno's mercy.

Techno was taking great amusement in this, as well as pride. _He_ was making Dream feel this way. _He_ was the one making Dream moan and whine, desperate for any hint of friction. _He_ was the one to see him like this, no one else.

As Dream continued to rock his hips repeatedly against his leg, Techno kept up a constant stream if degradation, that signature smirk still playing on his lips.

"Dream, you're such a whore," he'd laugh, pushing his knee forward and relishing in Dream's moan, "so desperate that you're fucking my thigh. You're such a needy little slut."

Dream, if he heard any of this, only seemed to lose himself further with the words. He was a whining, gasping, moaning mess, and his thrusts were steadily becoming more erratic. Techno could tell he was close to his climax, and he wanted to be the one to push him over the edge.

So, he leaned forward, his teeth meeting skin as he bit down harshly on Dream's collarbone, his knee pressing roughly against Dream's dick. Dream cried out whorishly as he came, his movements stilling. His back was arched off of the wall, his body only held there by Techno's hand. Techno breathed out lowly as he slowly pulled his mouth away from Dream's skin, releasing his neck and letting the blonde man slump forward onto him.

"Techno," Dream breathed weakly, his head buried into the pinkette's shoulder, "we still need to find Schlatt."

"Shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look hey its rock, able to access wattpad conveniently once styx has written the entire goddamn story for me
> 
> (ty styx ily mwa)
> 
> i wanted to start off by saying thank you to everyone who has read, commented, or interacted with this story. im honestly so happy every time we get a new comment, and im even starting to recognize familiar users and pfps, which is honestly amazing.
> 
> i apologize for the rant, but you get the point.
> 
> anyway, drink some fucking water or ill bash your skull in <3


	10. They Only had Seven Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author; Rock  
> Ship(s); (ahem) Wilbur x Dream, Dream x George, Bad x Skeppy, Quackity x Schlatt, Techno x Wilbur  
> Requested; Yep! This is three different requests combined, along with some other ships.  
> Requester(s); @RewriteOur_Stars @___Tubbo___ @BeeObak ( all on wattpad )
> 
> bro wouldnt it be funny if rock actually gets his chapters posted on time. i made an extra long one as a peace offering imsosorry
> 
> Enjoy!

The road was smooth and dark. The only sound filling the near-silent car was that of Nick's and Clay's combined breathing. The two had fallen asleep on each other a long time ago, much farther down the road.

Speaking of which, this road was leading to Wilbur's house. Eventually.

The current driver of the otherwise sleeping car was none other than George. The poor Americans in the car with him had flown over together, and the jet lag had hit them both hard. Whoever else had flown over had gotten separate drivers so that they'd all arrive at similar times. That time being around 8:30, so they'd have most of the night to hang out.

Wilbur had mentioned something about spin the bottle. George wasn't too sure he was entirely sane.

He twisted the wheel, turning softly so as to not wake the sleeping men behind him. They'd only arrived a few hours earlier, and they'd spent their first hours in Brighton sleeping.

Truly invigorating.

The GPS suddenly chimed out at him. Take another left, and then another hundred feet to the house. Not taking his eyes from the road, George called out softly to his two friends,

"Clay, Nick. We're almost there."

A period of silence.

"Claayyy. Niiiickk," he called again, this time with the growing volume like that of a mother waking her children for school.

This time, the darkened car stirred. Nick lifted his cheek from Clay's shoulder with some difficulty, considering Clay's head was rested on his own. Clay fell over towards him but rose quickly from the sudden movement. Nick yawned noisily and Clay followed suit. George bit his lip to contain a smile.

"What time 's it, Gogy?" Nick mumbled tiredly, already falling back onto Clay's shoulder in exhaustion. His voice was thick and slurred from sleep, and George couldn't help but laugh softly.

"Eighteen after eight. We're nearly there, so stay up," George replied, taking the aforementioned left. The whole car rumbled quietly as they turned onto a sort of odd, rough road. It went forward for a long stretch of land before it curved right behind a row of trees. The GPS told George that the curve led to Wilbur's house.

Clay mumbled something and Nick laughed loopily. George didn't bother to figure out why they were laughing. If it was anything similar to earlier, the trees outside of the car would've sent them into a fit of giggles.

As the car continued to rumble down along the road, George took the time to examine their surroundings. He had been since the two had fallen asleep and it was rather therapeutic. The darkness was not yet empty as it always was late in the night, and the occasionally passing car made for a sort of sign from the night that he wasn't alone. Trees loomed from the shadows, but rather than frightening George, they intrigued him as he searched their twisting branches for a set of glimmering eyes belonging to any sort of animals. The gentle slide of tire on the road and the purr of the engine had consumed so that his thoughts had not overwhelmed him.

Then, the gnarled road was coming to it's curve and Clay and Nick began to hum along to some song. The radio hadn't played since they'd arrived and piled into the car with random bags.

Maybe Clay and Nick were the ones who weren't sane.

The house turned out to be a decently sized, cozy looking place. A row of trees flanked the driveway and littered themselves throughout the yard. The house was bright with lights, and the door held a sort of wreath. The cold weather seemed to not bother the happy-looking house as it whistled it's cold breath across the frost-bitten land.

George unbuckled as he parked in the gravel driveway. Clay and Nick followed suit and spilled out of the car. They were somewhat piecing themselves together as George lead them to the front door. They seemed coherent, anyway.

Once they reached the roofed porch, a muffled song could be heard from inside, along with a chorus of boisterous singing. George grinned to himself as he knocked thrice.

Even as his hand came down the third time upon the wooden door, it swung open. Wilbur was standing there, grinning happily. Behind him, you could hear Schlatt scream-yelling along to a random song and Alex struggling to keep up.

"Welcome, gents! You've completed our party, come inside!" he greeted. The trio shuffled inside, the warmth and happy atmosphere drawing them in and thawing out the silence of the car ride there. George let a final shudder of cold rack him as he slid his shoes off, letting his socked feet greet the carpet. Now that he was inside, he had a good view of the place.

It was nicely decorated, but still simple. To his right, a living room stood with a round-ish couch facing a TV, with a table between. Here sat Schlatt and Alex, following along to a song that played rapidly on the TV. Carpet covered the whole of the place, save for the kitchen on the left-hand side, which had a sort of bar theme going on. In front of them was a more relaxed area, with two couches and a bean bag settled in from of a few bookshelves. Here sat Darryl and Zak, reading a book together. Settled in a isolated seat and curled up with a large book sat Dave, a deep look of concentration lining his features as he scanned the lines. The book area was sort of indented into the wall, like a room but without a fourth wall or door. At the edge of the start of this indent was a set of stairs leading up, but it seemed as though no one had gone yet up them.

It was nice.

Wilbur clapped his hands twice together, gathering everyone's attention. In a delighted voice, he spread his arms and grinned.

"Let's let the party begin, shall we?"

Shared smiled crossed everyone's faces as they all stood (save for Alex and Schlatt) and began to mill towards the living room. Even Dave, though reluctantly, slid his book back onto the shelf and followed suit.

Everyone settled in, either squished together on the couch or sitting cross-legged on the soft carpet. Schlatt, Alex, Dave, and a squished-together Darryl and Zak settled onto the couch, and George, Clay, and Nick scattered themselves around, leaning back on their hands. Wilbur passed blankets around to all of them from a basket settled by the TV, and they all wrapped themselves. He, too, found himself a seat on the carpet once everyone had cocooned themselves in a swath of blankets.

Wilbur, with his blanket thrown around his shoulders, scooted in a bit so that he had the group's attention.

"Alright ladies," he began, earning a slight stir of chuckles, "do we all know the plan for tonight?" he asked, glancing around.

At the general consensus of disagreement, Wilbur nodded and continued.

"Well, I planned to have us play a bit of truth or dare before we settled down for a movie. After that, maybe spin the bottle?" he explained, the last part coming out as a question as he scanned their faces for any signs of disagreement.

Everyone sort of shrugged, not really minding. Seemed like a harmless game of fun late in the night. Like a sleepover, almost. It brought back a sort of childish excitement into the air, and you could see the glittering smiles hidden behind shining eyes in each of them.

Wilbur nodded once, before scooting back to his original spot. With a short glance around the messy ring of friends, he nodded shortly again.

"Alright then, I'll go. I'll take it you all know how to play? You get asked truth or dare by someone, you answer one, and if you chicken out you lose a life. And, no lying obviously. Whoever was asked last asks next, and whoever chickens out the most has to take a dare at the end of the game chosen by everyone, 'kay?" Wilbur explained quickly, to a general nodding.

Wilbur nodded and cleared his throat, "I'll begin then. Alright, Dave," he began, turning to him,

"Truth or dare?"

Dave huffed, to which everyone chuckled gently.

"Oh, I don't know, truth?" he replied, his voice level and tinged with just a twinge of annoyance and maybe a slight hint of nervousness, hidden by sarcasm.

Wilbur grinned, "Alright then, have you ever had a crush on someone of the same gender?"

The group stirred and Alex sat up from his slouched position. Dave went very quiet for a moment, and the group waited anxiously in a dead silence. You could hear the wind whistling now.

Then,

"Yeah."

The group stirred, not knowing whether to question the brooding man or not. Wilbur broke the silence with, "Alright then, your turn."

Dave took the opportunity to move on without a second comment. He let his gaze rake the surrounding huddle of friends, and eventually his gaze landed on Nick.

"Nick, truth or dare?" he questioned, his voice still flat and unwavering.

Nick, not missing a beat, grinned and rolled his eyes, "Dare, duh. I'm not a pussy."

Dave cocked an eyebrow before continuing. George marveled at his ability to take Nick's light-hearted jab in his stride.

"I dare you let Clay tweet anything he wants on your account."

The group laughed loudly now, and Clay laughed along with a sort of sadistic glee. Nick groaned in mock dismay as he tugged his phone from his hoodie pocket defeatedly. He unlocked it, opened Twitter, and tossed it into Clay's lap. Alex muttered something in Spanish, something that sounded something along the lines of "Tiene un deseo de muerte?"

The collection of friends giggled quietly, watching as Clay typed something very quickly. Nick sighed, dragging his hand down his face. Clay, with a final, short wheeze, tossed it back to Nick. Immediately, everyone broke out in questions.

Nick silenced them with a short bark of embarrassed laughter. Laughing, he struggled to convey the line of text on his phone.

"Oh my god -, 'Hi, I'm Sapnap and I -,' what - Oh, my god. 'I'm Sapnap and I suck dick for a living.'. Wow, oh my god," he muttered, to which the group fell into hysterics. The laughter filled the room, and whatever remaining tension that had been there before had fizzled away, like sand washed away by a wave of water.

Slowly, the laughter faded as Nick shut off his phone with a roll of his eyes. He immediately pointed to Clay, grinning.

"Truth or dare?"

Clay rolled his eyes.

"Dare, I guess."

Nick laughed triumphantly.

"Give - uh, give George a smooch on the cheek," he laughed, and the surrounding ring laughed along with him.

George felt an awkward smile twist onto his face. Not that he had any say in the dare, but if he had, he probably would've avoided it. Call him a coward, a pussy, whatever, he didn't care, but there was no way he'd have gone through with it. Clay, though? He was definitely not going to chicken out.

The ring bubbled with laughter that flared into an enthusiastic roar of laughing and cheering as Clay left a quick, chaste peck on George's cheek.

George felt his face drown in a furious blush as he tried to play it off with a mock vomiting noise. The laughter dissolved into amused giggles as Clay continued the game by asking another.

The game continued as such for awhile, joking questions and embarrassing dares that ended in joking mortification or a silently thrown glare at the dare-er. The truths and dares started off simply enough, a series of jokes. As the night aged further, though, the questions became more serious. Less people picked dare until only questions were being tossed back and forth. Somewhere along the line, Wilbur had dimmed the light and they had all shifted subconsciously closer to one another, tightening the ring. The questions and answers were now forbidden whispers in the night, and the response was a dense silence, maybe a soft laughter every once in awhile.

Blankets were drawn tightly around shoulders as another forbidden question was answered. George and Nick were now huddled close to Clay, George's head on his lap and Nick's on his shoulder. Clay had slung his arm around Nick and his other was resting on George's back, his hand making lazy circles on George's back.

George felt his eyelids grow heavy as the game continued quietly. He could stay here forever, wrapped in a blanket, laying on Clay's lap as quiet whispers filled the dim house. He felt tingles shoot delightedly up his spine with every slow, gentle circle that Clay made on his back. These tingles faded into a happy sort of sleepy buzz in his stomach as he closed his eyes contentedly.

Nick murmured something to Clay. George took no notice to it, and payed it no mind.

That was until Clay suddenly shifted, pulling George onto his lap fully, letting his head rest back on his chest.

George kept his eyes securely closed, trying to keep from tensing up and trying to reign in the flush threatening to blaze over his face. He took a moment to listen to the hushed murmurs surrounding them, and took note that no one seemed to question the two. Realizing this, and not wanting to waste the opportunity, he let himself sink back, biting his tongue to keep back a soft smile.

Clay began to hum quietly behind him, his chin resting gently on George's head. George could hear his heartbeat, steadily thudding in his chest.

Clay suddenly moved, shifting as though he were looking at someone on the couch. George's guess turned out to be true as Alex began to talk, his voice a bit louder than previous murmurs.

"Hey, Wil, do you wanna get the bottle before everyone falls asleep?" he prodded.

Wil's voice added into the gentle murmurs that arose,

"Sure," there was a shifting noise on the carpet, and retreating footsteps, "Oh, Clay, get George up. Can't kiss him if he's asleep, can you?" he called back, to the general laughter of the ring.

Clay huffed out amusedly behind him. George could feel his chest puff as he did. That gentle sort of buzzing in his chest increased, and he felt a pang of regret at having to get up and move.

Clay shook his shoulder gently, his voice soft as he brought his head back to murmur gently into George's ear.

"George. Geeoooorge, get up, we're playing spin the bottle," he called softly, shaking his shoulder all the while.

Feigning a waking yawn, George let his eyelids flutter open. Not expecting the sudden spill of light from the previously dim lights above them, he squinted and let out a surprised grunt, to the amusement of Clay and Nick.

He let his eyes rake the room before blinking and slumping back against Clay again, muttering about being tired. Clay chuckled, wrapping both of his arms around him now that Nick had scooted off to bother Darryl and Zak. Clay hugged him tightly yet still gently, leaning his head on his shoulder.

George grinned to himself, incredibly happy as he let himself sink back into Clay's embrace, his own arms gathering his blanket in front of him.

Wilbur returned with an empty bottle, glass. He settled himself back on the carpet cross-legged, beckoning for the others on the couch to join them. As they moved onto the carpet, he began to explain the rules.

"Alright, so we all know seven minutes in heaven, right? 'Kay, well this is like that and spin the bottle combined. You spin the bottle, and then whoever it lands on you spend seven minutes in the bedroom with. Not the closet, 'cause we'd hear you too easily," he laughed at that finishing sentence, along with everyone else.

And, like that, the game began. You could feel the vibe shift from hushed and serious to loud and lighthearted. Wilbur decided to spin first, and you could hear the anxious giggles from around the room. Dave shifted awkwardly as the bottle laid on the carpet, ready to be spun. He looked away as Wilbur sent it spinning.

The bottle landed somewhere between Alex and Schlatt. They both looked at each other, and then Wil.

"Well -," Alex began, but Wilbur cut him off.

"It's fine, I'll re-spin."

Alex nodded as Wilbur repositioned the bottle and once again sent it spinning.

Everyone watched it with a tense curiosity, breathing bated as it slowed.

And it stopped on George. Or Clay. They were currently one in the same, so there was really no telling who it truly landed on.

Everyone began laughing at this small dilemma, and Wil pointed to George.

"George, I guess it landed on you. You're closer, anyway," he told George, shrugging haphazardly.

George stammered for a moment, and felt a rush of relief when Clay spoke up for him, his voice hard.

"No, Wil, it landed on me. Here, George, watch out." He shuffled George out of his lap, and George complied reluctantly. Clay seemed rather determined as he stood, tossing his blanket back on the dent in the carpet where he had sat.

George watched him curiously as he followed Wilbur away, towards the set of stairs with everyone calling after them teasingly. Dave had an odd sort of annoyance in his gaze.

He was pretty sure they shared the same emotion at the moment.

Jealousy.

[_Clay's POV_]

He felt a rush of emotions swirling throughout him as he followed Wilbur up the stairs, out of everyone's sight.

Relief, that it wasn't George currently going up these stairs instead of him.

Anxiety, as he followed Wilbur towards a room that would hold who knows how many secrets contained in the next seven minutes.

Loss, at the empty coldness on his legs where George had been curled up just moments earlier, looking criminally adorable being wrapped in a blanket and half-asleep.

Embarrassment, at being the first chosen and having to walk away from the group, alone with Wilbur.

He saw a door not too far ahead of them. It was open slightly, spilling light from inside. He felt his stomach contract and twist into a knot.

Wil looked back at him, a sly smirk on his face.

"Nervous?"

Clay swallowed his whirlwind of feelings.

"Never."

Wilbur smirked knowingly.

"Missing Gogy?"

Clay regarded him blankly. They had reached the door now, and Wilbur swung it open to reveal a comfortable-looking bedroom.

"Sure, Wil," he answered off-handedly, already trying to work out a way for this to end in only seven minutes.

Wilbur laughed, settling himself onto the bed and leaving Clay standing awkwardly. To give himself something to do, Clay shut the door softly behind them, breathing in deeply before he turned to face Wilbur.

Wilbur was still grinning, and continued to look at him smugly.

"Well?" Wilbur asked, raising an eyebrow very slightly.

Clay shrugged.

"Well, what?"

Wilbur had no shame in his reply.

"Wanna suck me off?"

Clay, surprised by the complete lack of subtlety, let out a shocked wheeze. Wilbur, though, seemed serious as he shrugged, leaning back on his hands. Conveniently (and Clay hadn't noticed this before), Wilbur's legs were dangling off the front of them bed, and if Clay were to kneel in front of him, he'd be perfectly at waist-level to the fluffy-haired brunette.

Ah fuck it, why shouldn't he? Clay, toning his grin down, moved towards Wilbur.

Hey, if he was going to give Wilbur head, he was gonna do it without an ounce of shame.

Wilbur grinned somehow wider as Clay lowered himself to his knees. He had been right, he was now face-to-face with Wilbur's waist, and even a blind man could've seen the growing boner beneath Wilbur's sweats.

They only had seven minutes. Clay hoped that he wasn't too terrible at this.

Without a moment's hesitation, Clay pulled down Wilbur's sweatpants, letting them bunch around his knees. Now in only his boxers and hoodie, his erection was in plain sight.

Wilbur huffed above him, a mix of arousal and loss of patience. Clay looked up at him, and found him looking down at him already, his gaze clouded and his eyes half-lidded.

Clay reached up, and began to tug slowly at Wilbur's waistband. The taller huffed again, his hands fisting into the bed comforter. Clay smirked to himself, proud of how flustered he was able to make the British man.

Speaking of British men, he had to get this over with quickly to return to George. And, well, the rest of the group, he guessed.

So, with that thought in mind, Clay pulled down Wilbur's boxers, reveling in the shocked gasp he let out as his dick was freed from his boxers.

"Someone's excited, huh, Wil?" Clay teased, letting his breath hit Wilbur's cock. Wilbur groaned in response, trying to keep his embarrassed gaze away from Clay, clearly not wanting him to see the redness tinging his cheeks.

Clay chuckled quietly, but he didn't dare waste much more time than that. Quickly, he let his tongue dart out to tease at the head of Wilbur's dick. This drew another low groan from Wilbur. Clay internalized a condescending laugh as he continued to tease Wilbur with his tongue, trying to rile him up.

Wilbur bit hit bottom lip, hard. You could still hear his heavy breathing, though, added in with the whimpers that slipped past his lips against his will.

Clay, however much he enjoyed teasing the taller, was once again thinking of their receding time limit, and knew he couldn't keep this up.

They only had seven minutes, after all.

Slowly, Clay brought himself forward until his lips were wrapped around the tip of Wilbur's cock, and he could hear the groan escape Wilbur despite his apparent resolve to stay resolutely silent.

Bobbing his head slowly, Clay brought himself back and forth, letting Wilbur's cock go deeper with every motion. His tongue was constantly moving, swirling around Wilbur's cock and teasing at the tip whenever he would move back far enough.

With the quick pace he had set, it didn't take long at all until Wilbur's dick hit the back of his throat. He felt tears sting his eyes as he kept going, Wilbur only going deeper down his throat.

All the while, he felt a rising sense of anxiety at their severe time limit. Seven minutes. Though, with every groan and whimper from Wil, Clay felt confident they'd be fine, and hopefully wouldn't be caught in the middle of what they were doing.

Wilbur's hips suddenly jerked forward as he gasped, and Clay gagged as he felt his face come flush against Wilbur's v-line. He couldn't keep his eyes from rolling back as a groan tugged itself from his throat, muffled by Wilbur's cock. Wilbur moaned in turn at the vibrations and the sensation of essentially being buried in Clay's throat.

Still choking, Clay tried to bob his head, struggling to get used to the sensation while also breathing through his nose heavily. Wilbur exhaled slowly as Clay pulled himself back little by little, unable to keep up with the constant trigger of his gag reflex.

Wilbur suddenly gasped as Clay tongued at his tip, and his hand shot forward to fist itself into the dirty blonde man's hair, tugging tightly on the soft locks.

"Clay -," he breathed, his words strained, "don't move, I'm so close -," his head rolled back, and Clay struggled not to groan at the dull pain on his scalp.

Deciding that he couldn't care less if Wilbur came down his throat, Clay pushed himself forward, all the way until his face was pushed against Wil's waist and his cock was deep down his throat.

This seemed to be too much for Wilbur, and he covered his mouth with his sleeve as he came down Clay's throat with a muffled groan.

Clay struggled to swallow it all, and for a moment felt like he might not be able to. Despite the seeming overflow of cum in his mouth, Clay managed to swallow as Wilbur pulled out, breathing heavily with a deeply red face.

Clay leaned back, wiping spit from his lips. His breathing was also labored as he struggled to get it back. Glancing at a clock on one of the walls, he was greatly relieved to see they still had two minutes left to clean themselves up.

They both sat there for a minute though, trying to recover from that. Wilbur ended up being the first to move, starting by pulling his pants and boxers up before standing with only a slight tremor in his legs. He crossed over the front of the bed to a nightstand Clay hadn't yet noticed, and grabbed a half-drank water bottle.

Returning to the foot of the bed, he offering the water to Clay, who accepted it with wordless thanks. He chugged it quickly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He then stood, before immediately slumping back onto the bed, earning a laugh from Wilbur.

"C'mon, sit down. Pretend like nothin' happened, Wil," Clay called, lifting his head before letting it drop again.

Wilbur complied quickly. They only had one minute left now, and they could hear the faint talking and laughter from downstairs. It wasn't loud enough to distinguish individual voices, but the intent was clear. They were arguing over who should have to retrieve the two, and no one was volunteering.

Clay couldn't even blame them, honestly.

Clay sat up as he heard footsteps, reluctantly approaching the door from the stairs. He and Wilbur quickly began talking, just something random about how cold it's been recently. Not the most creative, but whatever.

"Yeah, nearly fuckin' froze to death trying to - oh, hey Dave!" Wilbur greeted as the door opened slowly, revealing a brooding Dave at it.

"It's been seven minutes," he answered flatly, his gaze flickering between the two.

Wilbur nodded standing up and walking out with Dave. Clay followed them, feeling like a child following their parents. Downstairs, everyone immediately looked over at them, scanning them for any sign of anything suspicious.

How could he explain finally feeling the now-familiar carpet against his socked feet?

((sorry about that, its been edited now and hopefully makes sense -))

Have you ever gotten home after a long, exhaustingly new trip? Just the rush of relief, and the way you immediately relax upon entering your home again. Just that sense of _home_ and _safety._ That was the living room to him. Actually, not even just the living room, it was the people in the room that made his self-built walls melt away.

Without even realizing it, his gaze instantly went to George, who was watching him with carefully drawn eyebrows, his dark eyes searching.

Clay smiled, crossing to him and sitting beside him, ignoring the teasing calls from around them. George was reluctant to return a smile yet, and he kept watching Clay with that same guarded expression.

Clay raised his eyebrows at the brunette, genuinely confused as to why he was being so. . . distant.

Then, he realized why George had kept that same guarded expression since he'd returned.

George was jealous.

Clay grinned, "Nothin' happened George. We just talked." A total lie, but honestly that's how it ended, anyway. Neither of the two had obvious feelings for each other and nothing would change because of it, so they might as well have just talked for seven minutes.

George shrugged, still not believing it, clearly. Clay let his attention focus back on everyone else, who were berating Wilbur for details Clay knew they'd never get.

He kept watching them, and only looked back at George when he felt a weight on his shoulder.

George was now leaned on his shoulder, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and Clay's blanket from earlier bunched protectively in his lap. He grabbed it now and offered it to Clay, a silent gesture of forgiveness.

Clay took it and wrapped it around the both of them, happy to accept it. His blanket was far larger than George's was, so it was able to wrap them both easily.

The ring now grew bored of harassing Wilbur, and Clay watched them debate who should spin next. He also saw Dave watching Wilbur still, his eyes shimmering. Clay smiled to himself, shifting closer to George.

Apparently, they'd come to a decision, as they now re-organized themselves, Alex holding the bottle with a nervous smile.

Clay laughed, and nudged George, gesturing at Schlatt, who was watching Alex with an almost anxious look. Clay had never seen the guy like that, he'd always seemed so confident and carefree.

George giggled to himself, shifting to lean more on Clay and get more comfortable. In doing so, he moved so that the pair of them were now pressed together in a way that could almost be described as lover-like. It lit Clay's face on fire, but his stomach was tingling pleasantly.

Clay accepted it with an even wider smile, letting his attention rest on Alex, now spinning the bottle in the middle of the carpet.

[_Alex's POV_]

Well, here goes nothing.

He spun the bottle with an odd sort of anxiety building. It wasn't like anything bad would happen, so why was he so nervous? Wilbur and Clay had seemed fine, talking about weather from what Dave had said.

Why should he and whoever the bottle picked be different? It wasn't as if anyone in this room would be too terribly awful to spend 7 minutes alone with, even if they did end up making out, or whatever.

Well, anyone except for Schlatt.

Alex had a sort of... history, you could say, with Schlatt. Not anything particularly good or bad,  
really.

They had always been on this strange edge of friends, but also flirting on and off stream, but both being openly straight. Alex wasn't sure what to think of it, honestly. Schlatt had never gone too off-border, but he'd never really relented and neither had Alex. They just sort of danced around each other in a confusing twirl that neither of them openly acknowledged.

It was odd.

But now, his attention was back on the quickly slowing bottle, watching as it completed one more circle on the carpet.

And guess who it had landed on?

If you guessed Schlatt, good job, you were right. And Alex was panicking.

Internally, of course. Outwardly, he gave a jokingly charming grin. Then he was standing and accepting a hand offered by Schlatt, letting the taller of the two lead him away, up the same set of stairs Wilbur had led Clay up.

Wilbur called after them, his accented voice breaking through the teasing calls, "Last door! End of the hallway, you'll see it. It's probably open."

Schlatt threw him a thumbs up before they disappeared at the top of the stairs. Even as they walked down the wide hallway, Schlatt didn't let go of Alex's hand, and Alex didn't let go of his. They were approaching the room quickly now; it honestly wasn't far down the hallway.

Schlatt glanced back at him only once, his brown eyes guarded and his expression unreadable from the quick look he'd given Alex.

Alex tried not to think about it too much.

They reached the door fairly quickly, like he'd said, it wasn't too far. Schlatt pushed it open with his free hand, his other still intertwined with Alex's. The pair stepped inside, their feet landing soundlessly against the thick carpeting.

Alex paused to shut the door behind them carefully. It clicked into place gently.

Schlatt let go of his hand as he stepped forward further, turning to face him. Alex drew his arm back, staying awkwardly silent as he struggled to hold Schlatt's gaze.

Schlatt stepped forward a bit, and Alex stepped back, his back almost immediately hitting the door. He could've sworn he saw Schlatt smirk before stepping forward again. The gap between them was rapidly decreasing. Alex fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Man, it was hot in here. Was it just him - ?

The silence suddenly seemed too thick. Alex smiled awkwardly, "Hey, Schlatt, what do you wanna talk about? I mean, Wilbur and Clay talked about weather, so it can't be worse than -,"

Schlatt closed the distance between them, bringing their lips together.

Alex let a surprised yelp leap from his throat, it coming out muffled from the kiss. Schlatt was gentle, despite his demeanor, and his hands gently laid themselves on Alex's waist, his touch light.

Alex felt his cheeks heat up as they kissed, unable to find a place for his hands. The kiss was intimate, private. His breath was short and his heart was pounding. Why was Schlatt so confident in this? He seemed so sure of himself, his lips moving effortlessly and his touch perfectly gentle. Alex's hands were rested awkwardly on Schlatt's shoulders, his hands seeming far too awkward for the delicate position he had them in.

Schlatt pressed himself against Alex suddenly, their heated bodies now pressed against one another, warmth radiating from each of them. Alex gasped, and without warning, Schlatt pushed his tongue into Alex's mouth.

Alex moaned weakly into Schlatt's mouth, his legs buckling as he was forced to lean into the wall so that he wouldn't fall. Schlatt groaned lowly at the noise, his tongue mapping out Alex's mouth. The feverish kiss was desperate, more hungry than before. They were rushing, struggling to fit everything they were feeling into 7 minutes.

After all, they only had seven minutes.

Schlatt pulled back after a moment, his face looking about as flushed as Alex's felt. Their combined breathing was heavy, pants filling the room. Schlatt looked back at Alex after catching his breath, his eyes almost immediately going soft.

"Fuck," he breathed, leaning forward to bury his face into Alex's neck, his warm mouth pressed to his neck, "you look so hot right now Alex, shit."

Alex breathed out slowly, feeling a rush of heat in his stomach. He let his head drop back against the door as Schlatt pressed a kiss to his neck, his whole body shuddering.

He felt Schlatt grin softly against the sensitive skin, a murmur coming from him, "That feel good?"

Alex nodded quickly, forcing himself not to whimper weakly. Schlatt hummed against his skin before he began to trail a line of kisses down to his collarbone, each one shooting white hot pleasure throughout him as his breathing grew heavy, small whines forcing themself from him. He could feel Schlatt smiling against him, their bodies still pressed together.

Alex's back arched violently as Schlatt reached a soft spot on his collarbone. A moan tore itself from his throat, and he heard Schlatt chuckle lowly, his hot breath making Alex shudder.

Schlatt suddenly attached his lips to the same spot, sucking harshly. Alex's back arched even further, pushing him into Schlatt. Schlatt continued to attack the skin, breaking away briefly to nip at the area gently. Alex cried out as pleasure shook his legs, his head thrown back.

Schlatt detached himself, bringing his head back to look at Alex with a grin.

"You're so sensitive," he teased, his voice gravelly.

"Shut up," Alex breathed, his body relaxing as he sank back onto the door.

Schlatt shrugged as he leaned forward again, scattering kisses and nips all over Alex's collarbone, keeping them below his collar to avoid suspicion. His hands were slowly creeping up Alex's shirt, his cool hands pressed lightly on his heated skin. Shudders wracked Alex's body, shivers running through him with every desperate touch, kiss, bite, suck, anything.

Schlatt brought his knee up unconsciously, pressing it accidentally against Alex's crotch. When he leaned forward further to get better access, he heard Alex shout out, before his hand shot to his mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle himself.

Schlatt pulled back in concern, his eyes scanning for any sign of pain in the shorter. He could only see the redness tinging his cheeks, and the way his eyes were glazed over. Then, he glanced down, and the realization clicked.

He chuckled quietly, leaning forward to press his mouth to Alex's ear gently.

"Try to stay quiet, 'kay sweetheart?" he murmured.

Alex nodded quickly, moving his arm so that he was biting down on his sleeve instead.

Schlatt smirked as he moved in again, still scattering kisses and bites all over Alex's collarbone and upper chest. His hands were roaming under his shirt, his hands swiping over the smooth, soft skin. What was drawing the loudest noises from Alex, though, was the fact that he was consistently rolling his knee right against his growing bulge.

All of these things would've had him a moaning mess on their own, but all combined like this, Schlatt had him a moaning, drooling disaster. He could feel his climax building quickly, and he felt a bubble of shame arise in his confused, messy broil of emotions. He felt like a teenager, about to cum in his pants just from some hickeys and lightly heated touches from Schlatt.

Still, that thought didn't help him edge away from his climax, and he was still drawing near, whimpering and moaning into his arm desperately. Schlatt seemed to notice how close he was to his release, as his attacks only increased in vigor and his knee rolled much more heavily into Alex.

Then, just as Alex was about to release, Schlatt brought his mouth once more to his ear, his voice low and heated.

"You gonna cum for me, baby? Do it," he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to Alex's neck, just below his jawline.

Then, like a fucking teenager, Alex came in his pants. And he came hard, his back arching and his mouth falling open to let out a nearly inaudible moan. His vision blurred with white, and he felt his entire body tense up.

Then, his climax rolled away, and he slumped back against the door, his sleeve falling from his mouth. Schlatt groaned, pressing their lips together once more in a chaste, quick kiss.

"Shit, that was hot," Schlatt breathed as he pulled away, retracting his hands from under Alex's shirt, stepping back to let the shorter straighten himself. Alex sighed shakily as he ran a hand over his face.

"Eso era gay," Alex replied bluntly as he stood up fully, chuckling slightly to himself, confident Schlatt wouldn't have understood him. His blush was still very evident as he pushed himself off of the door, running a hand through his hair.

Schlatt shrugged, "Teníamos nuestros calcetines puestos."

Alex paused.

"How the fuck did you -,"

"I took Spanish in high school."

"Oh."

Schlatt chuckled, hopping onto the bed. They had less than a minute, according to the clock on the wall.

Alex now realized that he was in trouble. They had less than a minute left, and his boxers and pants were a mess.

"Ehh... Schlatt?" he mumbled, catching the taller's attention.

"Hm?"

"My uh - My pants are a bit... y'know.." he trailed off, a blush of embarrassment spreading up his neck.

"You fuckin' piss yourself?" Schlatt asked bluntly, glancing up at him.

"Wha - No!" Alex protested, pointing at his crotch. He didn't want to admit out loud that he'd literally came in his pants.

"Oh," Schlatt laughed, "Just take a pair of sweatpants or something from Wil, say you spilled water on yourself in the bathroom."

Alex mumbled something about Wilbur being seven feet tall, but complied. He balled up his boxers and pants, tucking them under his arm. The pants were, as suspected, far too big, and they trailed off of his feet like a child wearing his dad's pants.

Schlatt chuckled at him, and conveniently, the door swung open right then.

Wilbur leaned on the doorframe, smirking at the pair of them.

"So, gents, how was the make-out session?" he teased, grinning widely.

"Great," Schlatt answered.

"Bastardo caliente," Quackity shot back.

"Me amas," Schlatt answered cockily as he stood, crossing over to Wilbur and the door. Alex followed, holding his pants and boxers.

As Wil lead them back downstairs, he called over to his shoulder to Alex,

"Why are you wearing my pants, by the way? I don't care or anything, but - y'know - why?"

Alex shrugged, using the lie Schlatt had given him.

"Went to the bathroom and tried to wash my hands, but I got water all over my pants."

"Mhm, sure," Wilbur replied, his eyes glimmering as he descended the stairs.

Alex sighed, and Schlatt grinned back at him with a wink.

Ese astuto hijo de puta.

[_Dave's POV_]

Seeing Wilbur return was refreshing. Dave could blame it on the pressing ring of people that he sat in, talking easily with one another, but he knew that wasn't the truth.

Whatever the truth was for his excitement at seeing Wilbur, he didn't want to know it. Well, he did know it, but he'd rather not acknowledge it. Better to push it back, like a sour thought. Lock it away and come back to it never.

Wilbur was grinning, talking over his shoulder to Alex as they came down the stairs. Alex was rolling his eyes, smiling despite his front of annoyance. Dave smiled to himself at the sight.

Wilbur announced something jokingly about the two making out for seven minutes, and Dave watched curiously as Alex's gaze flickered away from Schlatt, who was smirking.

It took them a few moments to settle back into their previous spots, somewhat diagonal from Dave. Everyone was sitting in a haphazard ring on the carpet, Dave, Darryl, and Zak in front of the couch, Wilbur, Alex, and Schlatt by the end nearest to to the stairs, and Clay, George, and Nick filling in the circle opposite to Wilbur.

There was a moment of pause now as everyone looked around at each other. Who would go next?

Obviously, Alex and Wilbur couldn't spin, so that left Zak, Darryl, himself, George, Nick, Schlatt, and Clay.

Wilbur's gaze immediately narrowed in on him, glimmering with an idea. Oh, shit.

"Dave?"

Oh, fuck.

"Would you like to go next?" The bottle was extended to him, and everyone turned to him.

"Sure," he mumbled, taking the bottle.

Fuck Wilbur, fuck his charming smile, fuck his bright, encouraging eyes, fuck his stupid persuasive voice, fuck him.

He scooted forward a bit, placing the bottle in the center of the ring. The mouth of it was pointed towards Clay and George, the bottom towards Wilbur.

Fuckin' Wilbur, man.

Clay wiggled his eyebrows at him, and George swatted him jokingly. Dave heard a indignant shout from Clay, and he forced himself to refocus on the bottle, rather than put himself and Wilbur in the twos' positions.

The group stirred now, sitting upright. As Dave sent the bottle spinning quickly, he could've sworn that he'd seen Wilbur's jaw tighten. He put it down to coincidence.

As the bottle slowed rapidly, he heard Darryl murmur something to Zak. Zak made a noise of agreement, and he saw the two scoot together out of the corner of his eye. Dave was too busy worrying for his own swiftly approaching fate to care about their actions.

And, then, the bottle stopped.

Dave's gaze fixed on the mouth of the bottle, pointing directly towards someone. Dave refused to look, there was no way.

Wilbur.

Fucking.

Soot.

Wilbur chuckled, and the messy ring of people around them followed suit, laughter surrounding them. Dave tremulously brought his gaze up to meet Wilbur's, and he nearly died when Wilbur winked at him, a sly smile gathering on his face.

"Well, Dave?" he asked as he stood, still grinning.

Not wanting to draw attention to his hesitation, Dave brought himself messily to his feet. Wilbur's smile hadn't dissipated, rather growing with an almost insane fervor hidden inside a smug smirk.

Wilbur's eyes flashed, looking somewhat deranged. Not like he had lost it or anything, but rather that he had the look of a man who's waited so long for something that when it finally falls into his grasp he can't contain his exhilaration.

Was it wrong to find that hot? Probably. He was going to hell anyway, what's it matter at this point?

Clay catcalled at the two now, teasingly despite quite literally being snuggled together with George. Dave rolled his eyes, drawing an amused puff from Wilbur, who was already turning to head back up the stairs.

Not wanting to be left behind, Dave followed quickly, his hands curling into fists at his side. Every step seemed too loud, too clumsy. Wilbur was moving ahead with apparent ease, even eagerness as he cross the carpet and practically bounded up the stairs, leaving Dave to scramble up behind him.

He heard someone call out from behind them, something jokingly mocking about keeping it down. He could've sworn he heard Schlatt's voice calling out to Wilbur, calling him 'loverboy'.

These teasing jeers, though, were lost amid the thunderous swarm of thought currently crowding Dave's mind. He was lost in his own train of thought, if you could even call it that. His 'train of thought' was more of a train wreck at the moment.

Dave just simply couldn't bring himself to believe the bald-faced truth that he was going to be spending seven minutes, _alone,_ with Wilbur. Also, in case you hadn't picked up on this, those seven minutes were definitely _not_ going to be talking.

They were advancing quickly upon the door. They couldn't have been more than three feet from it now, and Dave was still panicking. There was no way this was happening, he didn't want it to.

Well, that was a complete lie. He _did_ want to kiss Wilbur, or makeout, or whatever, but he didn't know if he was ready. Or, even, if he knew what he was doing. His social interactions were quite limited, if he was being honest. Dave wasn't entirely too extroverted, and he liked to keep it that way.

But, now wasn't the time to worry himself with that. They had entered the room.

It was surprisingly nice. The bed was reasonably neat, the dark navy comforter only slightly rumpled. Besides the bed, the carpeted room was clean, but not unlivably so. There was a dark desk seated against the wall parallel to the bed, holding an assortment of books not unlike the book area downstairs. Beside the bed on one side was a nightstand, supporting a non lit lamp. A sliding closet door, painted white, was securely closed to the left of the bed, along with a carelessly open bathroom door about two feet from it.

Wilbur entered before Dave, leaving him to close the door quietly behind himself. The brunette turned to him, gesturing towards the bed with a half-concealed smirk lingering behind his casual expression.

"Have a seat," Wil told him, his hand still extended where he had gestured towards the bed.

Dave complied clumsily, seating himself crosslegged on the smoothed-out comforter. He could see it shift beneath him, and he felt as though he were ruining something that had been previously perfect.

As he turned back to Wilbur, he was surprised to see the lanky brunette maneuvering himself to sit beside Dave. Wilbur was so close, Dave could feel their shoulders brushing. He rested one arm on the corresponding leg, his other leg folded and his other arm propping him up on the bed. Dave found himself massively over analyzing Wilbur's body, his eyes darted over and absorbing every inch of him, the easy way he was leaned back on his hand, the slight quirk of a smile curled at the corners of his lips, the way his messy hair was strewn so beautifully on his head, making for the perfect casual look.

It didn't matter how messy his hair was or otherwise, though. It didn't matter how he was sitting, or even what he was wearing. Wilbur was just perfect. Like something from a book. Wilbur was the type of person that people wrote stories about, Wilbur was the type of person to be the hero, people would cheer for him. Wilbur would never mess up, Wilbur was always so faultless. He was amazing, and quintessential, and flawless. Wilbur was the person who you'd be jealous of. He would be the classical chill, laid back one.

Maybe Dave was rambling.

Maybe Wilbur was worth a rant. He was worth a thousand more, to Dave. He was worth it all.

He knew, always, he knew, that Wilbur could never see Dave the same. He would never fantasize about the way Dave would laugh at a joke he'd just told, he'd never long for the warmth of his arms wrapped securely around him, he'd never bite his lip at the thought of Dave pinning him to the wall and -,

Never mind. He was ranting.

He looked away now, embarrassment forcing his gaze away from Wilbur. He instead stared at his folded hands, which he'd rested carelessly in his lap. He didn't honestly feel like meeting Wilbur's now-questioning gaze.

Wilbur's voice, again.

"Dave?" he asked, his voice absolutely bubbling with his excitement. Dave, though tremously, once again brought his eyes up to meet Wilbur's gaze.

"Yeah - ?" Dave began to ask.

However, the rest of his sentence was lost. It caught somewhere in his throat, the unspoken finish wiped clean from his mind.

He felt Wilbur pushing hungrily against him, and it took a matter of seconds for their lips to collide.

Dave felt like he was on fire. He felt like a supernova, an explosion of feelings and thoughts that whipped around his head like pieces of torn paper in a storm. He couldn't think, couldn't move. It took Wilbur's hand coming up to grasp the back of his neck to shake him out of it.

He pushed back roughly against Wilbur, his own hand shooting forward to grab ahold of Wil's shoulder. Wilbur was surprisingly steady, his body warm and steadfast. Fleetingly, Dave was reminded of a campfire in a windstorm.

Wilbur hummed in contentment, seemingly satisfied at Dave's compliance, even eagerness. He kept pushing forward until their bodies were flush to one another, and even then he kept moving forward against Dave. He was so close now that he was pushing Dave back, back until the slightly shorter of the two was lying flat on his back, Wilbur hovering over him possessively. The kiss remained unbroken throughout, sweeping them both through this like fish swept along by a current in the river.

Only once both of them were running dangerously low on air did Wilbur pull back, panting heavily as he continued to hover over Dave, his hands propping him up, his legs straddling Dave's body.

Dave looked back up at him dazedly, still attempting vainly to form a proper thought. He couldn't believe it, _wouldn't_ believe it. There was just no plausible reason on this world to justify Wilbur kissing him.

That stirred something in him. _Kissing_ him. Wilbur had fucking _kissed_ him. Wilbur Soot, the man who Dave had been covertly crushing on for _how_ long now?

They'd _kissed._ He felt like some high school girl, giddy over a little peck from her crush. He felt - oh what was the word? Alive, maybe? But, in a way, that word seemed infinitesimal in comparison to how he felt. He just _felt._

Maybe Wilbur could tell. Above him, hovering over and trapping Dave completely. His wild smile had only grown, like a fire burning through a forest.

"You're thinking," Wilbur told him candidly. He said it as a statement, a declaration of the truth. And, of course, he was right. Dave was thinking. Most probably overthinking, but thinking nonetheless.

"Yeah," he replied lamely, unsure of how else to reply to that. He wasn't sure what response Wilbur wanted, but that was the best he had.

Wilbur gave a small, soft hum as he leaned forward again. This time, though, instead of connecting their lips, Wilbur attached his mouth to the crook of Dave's neck, sucking harshly.

Dave reacted instantly, his back arching off the bed slightly and his mouth falling open in a wordless gasp.

Wilbur grinned against his skin as he slowly pulled off, surely leaving a bright red mark in his place, a mark that would surely darken with time. Dave exhaled slowly as he relaxed into the bed again.

"Wil," he breathed as Wilbur pulled back a bit more, his face now visible to Dave, "You're gonna leave marks. They'll be suspicious."

"Let them," answered Wil as he swiped his thumb over the darkening bruise, "I just want them to know you're _mine._ "

Dave huffed, bringing an arm to his face in an attempt to hide his now-colored cheeks. His effort seemed to annoy Wilbur, as he gathered both of Dave's wrists in his hand and pinned them to the bed above his head. Dave's eyes blew open as he choked back a gasp. He wasn't expecting Wilbur to be so possessive and dominant, though he wasn't protesting.

His held-back gasp caught Wilbur's attention, a fact that was made known by the widening of his already feverish smirk.

"You like this? Want me to pin you down?" he asked, his eyes flashing when Dave squirmed beneath him, "You do? Want me to fuck you into the mattress so hard you can't even think?"

" _Fuck,_ " Dave moaned breathily, his face surely flushed red by now. He was quickly losing any resolve he'd previously had, completely melting underneath Wilbur.

Wilbur smirked down at him, mirth made clear in the curl of his lips.

"Maybe sometime, then. We don't have enough time now, love." Wilbur told him, once again leaning forward to connect their lips.

This kiss was much more tender than the first. The first had been feverish and desperate and amazing, but this one was soft and caring. Not to say it wasn't just as good as the first, but the difference was still evident. Both of their eyes had shut on their own accord and they moved against one another so gently it felt as though they were both made of glass. Great oceans of feelings and love contained by a thin sheet of glass. Glass, that, if it broke, it would spill and drown the other. Wilbur was so soft, savoring every second between them. He was holding on tightly to the few remaining minutes that they had together. After all,

They only had seven minutes.

When they parted again, Dave was smiling gently in content, and Wilbur was gazing back down at him with an expression that took Dave a moment to place. It was so unlike his usual, casually grinning demeanor that it took Dave aback.

Wilbur was looking at him with love. Or, lust, maybe, but honestly either was fine with Dave.

It wasn't until Wilbur's eyes gleamed once more with that burning hunger that Dave's smile broke, and he drew his bottom lip between his teeth. His lips split from one another and a gasp fell from between them when Wilbur brushed his hand over the growing bulge in his pants, his thumb pushing the zipper ever so slightly.

Wilbur didn't say anything, but Dave's response to the feather-light contact must've given him a new idea. He scooted back a bit on the bed, leaning back to sit on Dave's thighs, still straddling him and still pinning his wrists firmly to the bed. His free hand, previously holding himself up, now was brought to the zipper of Dave's pants, tugging lightly. A gentle ' _ziiip_ ' came from the metal tab with each small fraction that it was pulled down.

Painstakingly, the zipper was lowered until only the buttons above it were keeping his pants on. Then, those too were undone, and he felt the pressure from his waistband relax as Wilbur began to tug his pants back. He only pulled them back to his thighs, letting them rest there freely.

Dave clenched and unclenched his hands into tights fists, anticipation making him incredibly high strung. He couldn't handle it, he wanted Wilbur, wanted Wilbur touching him, doing anything other than smirking down at him, his hand hovering tauntingly above the outline of his cock.

Now, Dave was ordinarily above begging or pleading with others. If he wanted something done, he'd do it himself.

On the other hand, Wilbur currently had both of his hands pinned above his head, an already purple hickey on his neck (still darkening), and had his hand lingering teasingly above his dick.

So, was he above begging? Yes. Was he right now? Fuck no.

" _Wil_ ," he breathed, "please, please I want it so bad, I'll - I'll be good, just - _fuck -_ please touch me."

Wilbur's cocky grin deepened, and his grip on Dave's wrist momentarily tightened. It relaxed again, though, as he spoke, and it was such a fleeting sensation Dave wondered if he'd imagined it.

"Begging, Dave?" he laughed, "Of all people, I thought you'd be better than that. Thought you'd have enough respect not to start whining like a little whore."

Dave scowled, "I - I _am_ ," he protested through gritted teeth, "but you've got my hand - _shit!_ "

The cause of this sudden outburst was Wilbur, who had decided he didn't care to hear Dave's explanation and instead decided to pull down Dave's boxers, letting them bunch together atop his pants on his thighs. His cock sprang free, slapping the hem of his shirt, which had ridden up by a small fraction.

"You were saying, slut?"

"Shut the fuck up."

Wilbur replied with an amused tsk, wrapping his hand around the tip of Dave's dick. His skin was dry, a problem he realized almost immediately. Instead of trying to rummage through his drawer for a bottle of lube, he just brought three fingers to Dave's lips, prodding at them.

"Suck." he told Dave. He complied, the humiliated color burned into the color of his cheeks long gone. There was no one else here but Wilbur and himself, so he had no reason for shame. Well, he did (obviously), but he didn't care at the moment.

He swirled his tongue around the three fingers in his mouth, trying to look up at Wilbur with the most innocent look he could muster. As he coated Wilbur's fingers in a layer of spit, he could've sworn he heard a low curse from the taller.

However, his focus shifted completely when Wilbur pulled his fingers away, leaving a line of spit to fall from Dave's bottom lip. His hand, now covered partially in Dave's spit, wrapped around his cock again. His hand was warm, and as he slowly moved his hand down, the saliva acted perfectly as lube.

Wilbur moved his hand upwards again slowly, his unusually sharp, brown eyes gazing possessively down at Dave. Dave, whose eyes were rolled back slightly, eyelids fluttering, saw this through a haze of arousal and pleasure. The eye contact was hard to hold as Wilbur once again brought his hand down, this time with a bit more speed.

Dave was sure he looked like a complete mess at the moment. His hair was tousled, his cheeks once again red, pants half pulled down, looking every part of the slut Wilbur made him out to be.

Though his thoughts were a total disaster at the moment, he lost any of them he might've been able to hold onto when Wilbur's hand began to speed up considerably, wrist twisting on the upstroke. Every time his hand would reach the lip of Dave's cock, his thumb would swipe over it, pressing lightly.

He was absolutely ruining Dave.

He was biting down so hard on his bottom lip he was sure he'd split skin soon. The small whines and groans that managed to slip from him were only heightening his embarrassment, but he didn't even have the resolve to try to quiet them anymore.

He was having enough trouble keeping in the moans.

Wilbur, with his annoyingly hot smirk still had his eyes held steadily on Dave's face, drinking in all of his small noises as if he couldn't get enough of them. His gaze only broke for a small moment as he glanced fleetingly at the clock.

Whatever small fraction of time they had left must've panicked him, as his eyes were now fixed back on Dave with a fresh wave of determination.

The consistent motion of his hand and wrist now increased in speed once more. His other hand, the one pinning his wrists to the bed, tightened dangerously, pressing Dave's wrists down with such a force that it would now be impossible to move them.

This combination, this confusing, amazing, messy combination was tipping Dave over the edge far too quickly. Wilbur, leaning over him and jerking him off at a brutal pace. Wilbur, pinning him to the bed like he was just a ragdoll. Wilbur, completely ruining him all while smiling that stupidly hot Cheshire grin of his.

Wilbur.

Dave was now rutting up helplessly into Wilbur's hand, too lost in his own pleasure to even bother looking at Wilbur's reaction to this new desperation. His lips were now parted, light moans falling from them, his back arched off of the bed. He was so close, so close to release. Even if someone were to walk in right then, he was sure he'd keep going, too close to his climax to even care.

With an exceptionally loud moan, Dave thrust up to meet Wilbur's hand, hitting his climax as white clouded his vision.

As he finally exhaled, slumping back down into the bed, he was vaguely aware of the release of pressure on his wrists, and the way the bedsprings creaked as Wilbur scooted back and stood. Dave threw an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the light as he panted, still recovering from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He was pulled back into reality as he felt a cold wetness at his waist, causing Dave to flinch away momentarily. As his arm was lowered quickly from his face, a hand pushed down on his waist, keeping his still. As he looked down, he saw Wil, wiping cum from wherever it had gotten on him, his hand on Dave's waist.

Wilbur scowled as he wiped at a small spot on Dave's shirt.

"You stained it," he muttered, running the cloth over it again. Dave ignored this as he pushed himself up, leaning on his palms. Wilbur pulled away now, tossing the washcloth haphazardly onto a small hamper. Dave began to tug his pants and boxers back up, buttoning and zipping his jeans.

He gave an offhanded glance to the clock, doing a double-take when he saw the time.

"We finished right on time, damn. Thirty seconds to spare," he commented, now scooting forward to settle on the foot of the bed, where Wil had also sat down.

Wilbur hummed in agreement, running a hand through his hand absently. Dave could hear them chatting downstairs, their mingled chatter easily audible now that Dave wasn't drowning it out with his own moans.

As well at the absent talk, though, a pair of footsteps was also audible. Judging vaguely by the sound of them, whoever it was walking towards them was at the top of the stairs now. Both Dave and Wilbur fell silent as they both looked over expectantly at the door.

It swung open after a few moments, with Clay holding the handle and George standing behind him. Clay grinned at the two of them, pushing the door open fully. Behind him, George was looking up at him with a triumphant smile.

"See, told you we wouldn't walk in on them fucking!" George shouted delightedly, to which Clay threw up his hands defeatedly.

"I just thought they would be, okay? Quit hitting me!" Clay yelped, hopping away from George, who was now swatting him.

Wilbur chuckled as he stood, Dave following behind him as they all began to walk downstairs, Clay and George still arguing playfully. Wilbur glanced back at him with that same smirk, flashing him a quick wink before turning forward again.

Dave grinned to himself, following the other three down the stairs. He felt like Achilles, an unfaltering shield of sarcasm, but with one weakness.

Maybe Wilbur was his heel.

[_Nick's POV_]

Alright, fuck this.

There was no way it had only been seven minutes since Dave and Wilbur had gone upstairs. Since then, the group had fallen into mundane conversation, and Nick was entirely too bored to take part in it. Instead, he had resorted to dangling himself upside down from the couch, his head rested on the floor and his back bent at basically a 90 degree angle. All of the blood had definitely already rushed to his head, but it was worth it to be able to do something other than sit and twiddle his fuckin' thumbs.

Also, he had been here through the entire game, and he hadn't even gotten to makeout with anyone yet. What kind of unfair bullshit was that?

He turned his head as he heard footsteps, and saw Clay, George, Wilbur, and Dave making their way back into the room. He pushed away from the couch, coming down crashingly as he did so, definitely accidentally kicking Zak on his way down.

"Shit, sorry," he apologized to an already laughing Zak. He scrambled back to a normal sitting position as he leaned forward to berate Clay and George for details.

"Did they fuck?" he asked, earning a simultaneous laugh from Clay and George and a scoff from Wilbur. Clay shook his head, and he saw Dave roll his eyes as they all settled back into their spots.

((i hate putting a/ns in the middle of the stories so sorry but im also sorry for the shit writing its literally two am and i want this to be done tonight))

As Wilbur grabbed the bottle again and scanned the group, Nick raised his hand like a student.

"Uh, Mr. Soot?" he asked, eliciting a few chuckles from the group.

"Yes, Nick?" Wilbur responded in turn, grinning slightly.

"Uh," Nick said, "I was wondering if we could just play spin the bottle instead?" here he dropped his mock-student tone abruptly, "Cause it's really fuckin' boring sitting out here for seven minutes while you guys fuck upstairs."

Wilbur laughed, but turned to everybody as a whole anyway.

"I mean, I'm down. Anyone else down for regular spin the bottle? Raise of hands."

Everyone raised their hands, even George, who had already wormed his way back into Clay's lap somehow and who was currently swathed in a blanket.

"Alrigh' then, guess it's spin the bottle now. Here, Nick, you can go first," said Wilbur, extending the bottle to Nick, who took it with a small mutter of, "Fuck yeah."

Nick scooted forward, setting the bottle on the carpet and smacking the mouth of it, so that it spun wildly, nearly hitting Darryl. As it stopped, it landed on Clay. Or George.

"Aw, man, guess I gotta kiss you both, what a shame," Nick sighed in mock distress. Clay snorted, shaking his head and shoving George forward lightly.

"Kiss him instead, I don't wanna touch you." Clay laughed, still pushing lightly on a now protesting George.

Wilbur sighed jokingly and grabbed the bottle again, spinning it for Nick. He turned back just as it stopped spinning, and it was pointing directly at the man who'd spun it.

As Nick grinned jokingly, he could've sworn that he'd seen Dave wrinkle his nose out of the corner of his eye. Uncaring to that, though, he leaned forward quickly and pressed a short kiss to Wilbur's lips. As their lips connected, the ring around them exploded in laughter, which they joined in to as they pulled apart.

"Nick," Clay spoke through wheezes, "where the fuck was your hesitation?"

"What, man?" Nick fired back, grinning triumphantly, "We both had our socks on, right Wil?"

Wilbur, still laughing, nodded. Nick gestured towards him with a look of self satisfaction to Clay.

"See?" he told Clay, "Perfectly fine!"

Clay shook his head, his wheezes subsiding into giggles and then silence. Wilbur grabbed the bottle again, offering it up in the middle of their circle.

"Who next?"

[_Darryl's POV_]

The game continued just as it had started. Some people were much more hesitant with their kisses, while others gave them out freely and without an ounce of humiliation. Some, even, lingered for just a moment too long.

Like with Alex and Schlatt, when the bottle had stopped, Darryl could've sworn he'd seen a hand on another one's thigh.

Somewhere along the line, Wilbur had stood and meandered off to the kitchen, muttering something about grabbing drinks. No one paid him much mind until he returned, grinning, both of his hands now holding twin bottles of vodka.

Darryl had scowled and scooted back until his back pressed against the couch when he'd started offering shots to everyone, but he seemed to be the only one. Everyone else took their little glass and threw it back, coughing a bit.

As you could guess, it took Wilbur about a half an hour to get absolutely shit-faced.

With every spin of the bottle on the floor, Wilbur passed out another round to anyone who wanted it, and they all drained it with increasingly lopsided grins.

Now, Darryl was holding up a slightly swaying Zak, a soft, concerned smile on his face. Zak was telling him a story, one even Darryl couldn't follow, with all of his slurring of words and tripping over himself and doubling back.

"And then, then - uh, we -," he paused here, tipping his head back to look up at Darryl, "I think . . . Darryl?"

Darryl, who'd been watching Wilbur down yet another shot, looked back down at Zak, whose cheeks were dusted red.

"Yeah?" he asked, his grip tightening when Zak lurched dangerously to the side. Even as Zak swayed, hiccuping slightly, his eyes never left Darryl's face.

"You have pretty eyes," he murmured, bringing his hand up to poke absently at Darryl's cheek. Darryl smiled back down at him, his gaze soft.

"Thank you," he hummed appreciatively, knowing already that Zak would remember none of this in the morning. Zak nodded lazily, letting his head fall against Darryl's chest and his hand to slip down.

Zak, leaned back against Darryl's chest, suddenly reached out and wrapped his hand around something. When he brought it to his face, Darryl could see that it was the same shot glass that had gotten him here in the first place.

Zak attempted to down it as well, but failed, considering the shot glass was already drained. He pulled it away from his mouth with a scowl, tilting his head back again to look up at Darryl.

"Darryl, 's empty," he slurred, waving the shot glass at him to accentuate his point. Darryl nodded at him with a small smile. Zak was kind of cute like this.

"It's empty, you drank it already," answered Darryl, who was ready to ward him away from getting another shot, if need be.

Zak regarded his shot glass blankly.

"Empty," he repeated, much like a toddler, "I'll get more."

He began to push himself off of Darryl's lap, towards where everyone else was now chanting for Wilbur to chug the vodka. The thought of even trying that made Darryl's throat burn.

Darryl wrapped his arms securely around Zak, pulling him back, "There's no more," he lied, "okay? Just sit down, tell me your story."

Zak resisted for a moment, but then went still and sank back into Darryl, his head once again tipped back to look up at Darryl. His cheeks were still rosy from the drink, his mouth opened softly.

"Darr'l," he murmured, his hand grabbing at Darryl's own, trying to hold it, "what - no, that's not . . . Darryl?"

Darryl bit back a small laugh, still smiling down at Zak, who'd been slowly relaxing back into him and was now practically laying against him. He let Zak take his hand, and was surprised at how steady his grip was.

"Yeah, Zak?" he answered, his patience holding true. Zak gazed up at him for a moment more before a clumsy smile split his face.

"You're cute," Zak told him, still grinning at him. His hand squeezed gently once, then twice, until he'd squeezed Darryl's hand three times.

Darryl, for a moment, let his eyes widen in surprise, a flush threatening to spread up his neck and over his face. However, remembering how incredibly intoxicated his friend was, instead tried for a smile. It was shaky at best.

"I -," Darryl began, before cutting himself off, "Thank you, Zak. You're cute, too," he told him, well aware that Zak would hardly remember this. He found confidence in the fact that nobody besides himself would have much more memory of this part of the night than a lingering headache.

Zak gave him a surprisingly perspicacious smile in return, despite the drink surely clouding his thoughts. It didn't linger, though, as his slightly glazed look returned, and he hiccuped again.

"Darryl," Zak mumbled, for what seemed like the eightieth time.

Darryl gave a bemused smile, "Yes, Zak?"

Zak squeezed his hand, preoccupied for a moment in doing so. Then, he seemed to remember what it was that he was supposed to be saying.

"Oh -, Darryl, can . . ." He trailed off here, either a symptom of his clouded mind or simple nerves. He shouldered it, though, swallowing thickly as he continued, "Can I -,"

He broke off his sentence here, his mouth shutting and his face suddenly flushing with a nauseating hue of pale green. Darryl, who had been expecting this since Wilbur had first grabbed the vodka, stood immediately, dragging Zak to his feet as well.

(( to all of my emetophobic friends, don't worry, he doesn't end up throwing up !! )) 

Not even bothering to excuse themselves, Darryl dragged Zak off towards a door past the stairs, previously indicated as a bathroom. He shoved Zak inside, shutting the door behind himself as he followed suit.

Zak fell to his knees in front of the toilet as Darryl struggled not to look away, swallowing hard as he crouched beside his friend. Zak's head was bowed as he hunched over, gagging slightly.

Though, to Darryl's amazement and immense relief, he didn't end up vomiting. Instead, he only gagged for a moment, before spitting weakly into the bowl and falling back onto the tiled floor with a sigh.

Darryl gave him a cautious look, scooting a bit closer, attempting to push Zak's messy hair out of his face. As he did, Zak reached up and caught his hand in his own, tugging Darryl towards him.

Darryl very suddenly found himself incredibly close to Zak. He could see his dark brown eyes in incredible detail. He could see the way Zak's eyelashes fluttered as he blinked, and he was sure Zak could see the redness slowly tinging his  
cheeks.

Darryl, not sure of what else he was supposed to do, slowly backed off and stood up, helping Zak to his feet after. Zak seemed reluctant to stand, and even as Darryl turned to open the door, he felt Zak's hand, grabbing his own again.

He turned to face Zak, trying not to panic. Zak was looking at him with a fiery determination that was completely new to Darryl.

"I - no, 'Arryl?" he asked, his words still thick and messy. He was thinking out loud with every sentence, too drunk to even realize it.

"Y- yeah, Zak?" he replied shakily, cursing himself for stumbling over his words. Zak was so close, close enough to kiss Darryl, if he were to lean forward a bit.

Zak's next words were the clearest he'd spoken yet.

"Can I - can we kiss?"

Darryl froze. Zak - no, there was no way. Zak was drunk, and messy, and not himself. The whole idea that 'drunk words are sober thoughts' was wrong, it had to be.

"Zak - we can't - you're drunk, you won't - you'll hate me in the morning, and I can't - you'll -,"

Zak hiccuped again and stumbled forward a bit, putting a hand on Darryl's shoulder to steady himself.

"I - no, Darryl, I won't hate you, just -," he stumbled a bit more here, "Can - _hic -_ can I kiss you? Please?"

Darryl already started shaking his head, but paused.

What would be the harm in it? If Zak was okay with it, it wasn't taking advantage of him - right? Zak _had_ been very casually flirty all night, even before Wilbur had handed out drinks. Besides, if Zak said he wouldn't regret it, then why not?

With that thought in mind, Darryl sighed and gave a small nod.

"You - yeah, yeah we can kiss," Darryl told him.

A delighted smile split Zak's face, his teeth flashing as he pushed himself forward clumsily.

Their lips collided in a messy, sloppy kiss. Darryl was pushed back against the bathroom door by Zak's intensity, surprised by his determination. As Zak continued to push against him, Darryl could taste the strong trace of vodka on his lips. Darryl quite literally had to hold Zak up to keep him from collapsing into him, the brunette was that unsteady.

When Zak pulled apart, he slumped forward, falling into Darryl. The brief glimpse of his face Darryl was able to actually see was blazing red. He was sure he looked the exact same.

I mean, it's not everyday you get to kiss your lifelong crush.

Maybe that deserves a bit of explanation.

Darryl, for almost as long as he'd known Zak, had always had a crush on him. It started off innocent and small little thing, smiling whenever he'd hear Zak talk, or blushing at the smallest flirtatious talk. But since then, it had grown into so much more. Darryl had learned to hide it for the most parts, using humor to skate around it, but sometimes some of the things either of them would say would sound a little _too_ serious.

But this? This was the closest they'd ever been to one another. Not just physically, this was honestly the farthest they'd ever been from platonic, and the closest they'd ever been to flat-out romantic.

Zak mumbled something into his shirt, holding onto his shoulders like a lifeline. Darryl held onto his waist to keep him steady, honestly a bit worried that he'd keel over right then.

Zak pulled away from him after a moment, looking up at him dazedly, his grin infectious.

"Darr'l?" he slurred, still swaying. Darryl grinned fondly at him.

"Yeah, Zak?"

Zak gave another small hiccup. "I think I love you," he answered simply, falling back onto Darryl's chest.

Darryl could've sworn he melted right then and there. Zak was completely wasted, and Drunk Zak had no filter at all. In a way, it was like being able to see his thoughts, since Zak was just saying anything that came to mind at this point.

Darryl wrapped his arms more securely around Zak now, hugging him gently while resting his head on Zak's shoulder. Zak laughed drunkenly, wrapping his own arms around Darryl's neck and hanging onto him. They stood like that for awhile, hugging contentedly. It wasn't until Zak gave a huge yawn and buried his head into Darryl's shoulder that they actually moved.

Darryl went to check the time on his phone, pulling it from his back pocket one-handed. He was shocked to see it was already two a.m. and counting.

"Zak," he said quietly, pocketing his phone again, "it's late, we should go back out."

Zak whined like a child, clinging ever tighter onto Darryl's shirt. "One - _hic -_ one more? Kiss?" he pleaded, still clutching at Darryl's shirt, his face hidden in the crook of Darryl's neck.

Darryl smiled, shaking his head in a jokingly exasperated manner. Despite this, he still gave a small sigh, and then an agreeing, "Alright."

Zak was still smiling giddily as they pulled back. When they kissed this time, it was much shorter and cleaner than the first, but Darryl could still distinctly taste the vodka on Zak's lips.

Darryl let a smile grace his features again as Zak giggled happily to himself. He was either acting on the effects of sleep loss, vodka, or both. As Darryl grabbed his hand and began to open the bathroom door to let them both out, Zak complied and followed him without a word.

In the living room, everyone had passed out. Wilbur was lying on his back, his hair askew and a bottle strewn lazily near him. Dave was curled up beside him, laying protectively at his side. Nick had thrown himself onto the couch lazily, a blanket falling off of him and his head thrown back over the armrest. Clay and George were quite literally spooning on the ground, Clay's body curled defensively around George's, two blankets lain over them both. Alex and Schlatt had fallen asleep against one another, propped up against the couch and sharing a blanket. Schlatt's head was laid on Alex's, who was leaning on his shoulder. The lights were still on, and it was obvious they'd all passed out within minutes of one another without even bothering to get pillows or turn off the lights.

Darryl, grinning still, led a swaying Zak over to the couch where there was still free space. He helped Zak sit down before turning around to go turn off the lights. He crossed the room to the door, locking it before he flicked the lights off. As he walked back to the couch, he noticed Dave's glasses were still on, slightly askew on his peacefully sleeping face. Darryl grabbed them, and set them on the kitchen counter gently. He then went around to each of his sleeping friends in turn, making sure they'd sleep alright, grabbing empty bottles and glasses, and pulling some blankets over people.

Once he'd made sure everyone was alright and put away any empty glasses, he walked back over to Zak, sitting on the ground in front of the couch.

Zak huffed, sliding off of the couch and onto the floor beside Darryl. Curling up on the ground beside Darryl and resting his head into Darryl's lap, Zak hummed contentedly, letting his eyes shut.

Leaning his head back against the couch, Darryl smiled. It was quiet in the room, save for the soft breathing of the sleeping men in it and the wind outside.

Darryl fell asleep against the couch, already dreading the complaints of headaches the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy 
> 
> look okay i apologize for not uploading styx is MIA and they're literally my motivation 99% of the time
> 
> anyway, i wanted to give a HUGE thanks to everyone who reads, comments, and votes on these stories. like - its insane how quickly this grew, and honestly it makes me so happy. also, regarding styx, they've asked i don't explain where they are, but they're going to be alright, so there's no need to worry!
> 
> anyhow, im working on some other chapters right now, one of which possibly involving prison dream.
> 
> criticism and feedback are always greatly appreciated!


	11. Not an update !!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not an update — but please do read !

hello !! we have a discord server now, which i’m very excited about. it took a lot of effort, so please heed the rules ! 

https://discord.gg/EF6Ev7VV

also, thank every single one of you on ao3 for receiving my works so kindly and being so up-lifting. 10k+ reads is insane !!


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